


In A Pretty How Town

by cleo (miri_cleo)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Femslash, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri_cleo/pseuds/cleo
Summary: Storybrook may be a little town in nowheresville Maine, but Bureau of Prohibition Agent Emma Swan suspects it's at the center of a major bootlegging operation.Once Upon a Time 1920s AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter 1920s Bootlegger AU that involves a lot of slang and more research than I care to admit. Thanks to twtd for beta work, and thanks to everyone who has had eyes on this at some point in the last two and a half years. 
> 
> The main pairing is Maleficent/Regina, but other femslash pairings are implied, as well as het pairings. I haven't tagged them because they are not a main focus, but past Cora/Gold and past Emma/Neal are referenced . Ursula/Cruella, Gold/Belle, and past Ursula/Maleficent are implied at points
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Mal dropped the cigarette butt and ground it into the dust with her heel. She pursed her lips, holding in a sigh. The muted sound of glass clinking together was the only punctuation to her wait. She took out her pocket watch.

“Sample of the merchandise?” 

“I know how it tastes.” Mal glanced down at the crystal glass, half full of cloudy liquid, on offer. She brought the glass to her nose but thought better of sniffing. Better to drink. The bite of it going down her throat took the edge off of the night’s chill. She knew its every note, had tended it lovingly from first until last. 

“Oh, yes, you’re quite the connoisseur.” Gold took the empty glass and tossed it into the air, its facets catching the moonlight and breaking into a half moment of color before he caught it.

Mal glanced at her watch again. “We’re behind schedule, and I have another appointment to keep.” These things were best kept to a strict schedule. That way, each variable could be accounted for to a degree that, in a town like Storybrooke, very few things could go wrong. 

Gold turned to her, his face half in shadow. “Patience, dearie. They’ll wait.”

“Every extra moment your men waste is one thread unraveling in a carefully woven plan.” And besides, she knew patience. She had the patience to see that bottles were carefully labelled, the patience to find the perfect combination of ingredients. She had painstakingly constructed the bones of their little empire. Gold had merely papered it with his money. 

Smirking, Gold tapped the Thompson leaning against the wall next to her. “That’s what this is for.”

Mal lazily took hold of the gun. It was inaccurate, bulky, but it would cut a man in half. She preferred more efficient methods. But the heater's appearance signaled strength and bravado, even when neither were present. In Mal's case, it compensated for the lack of anatomy men seemed to find so essential to doing business or so it seemed to people like Gold. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Gold.” She pushed off from the wall and sauntered towards the truck. “Let’s get this show on the road, boys.”

As soon as they were away from the hidden entrance to the old mine, the darkness enclosed them. Mal rode easily on the bumper, watchful despite it. They would be nearing the harbor soon enough, and with most of the cargo to be unloaded there, they would head back to the Library. 

The main road should have been empty--Storybrooke was, after all, the perfect, sleepy town--but Mal glimpsed lights in the distance. She stood, gripping where the canvas met wood on the back of the truck. They would meet the other automobile driver soon—it was unavoidable. Mal made sure her driver saw her in the mirror as she leaned outward. They were already behind schedule. A tourist who took a wrong turn was not going to stop her. 

In retrospect, she wished she would have waited another twenty minutes. A Bureau of Prohibition checkpoint on the edge of town had been the last thing anyone would expect. She stepped from behind the truck long enough to squeeze the trigger. The sound of the Thompson firing filled her ears, but this was futile. They would be there until someone wound up six feet under or until they were out of ammunition. Mal wasn’t partial to either outcome; she had other things to do. 

She pulled out the revolver at the small of her back and took aim at the other car’s tires. Without waiting to see if her aim was good, Mal moved to the front of the truck. She threw open the door and inched toward the wheel. Shipment or no shipment, she knew when to back down and regroup.

*****

Mal shrugged out of her jacket, careful to catch it before any wrinkles could set in. She folded it over her arm before hanging her hat on the coat tree. Before she picked up her gun again, she smoothed her hair in one of the myriad of mirrors hung in the entryway. Music from the wireless drifted indistinct but tantalizingly down the stairs growing clearer as she made her way up.

 _”…that gleams, haunts me in my dreams, I’ll …”_ played out onto the landing, and Mal stepped to the open doorway spilling lamplight. For a moment, she waited there on the threshold, simply watching Regina stare out of the window into the darkened street. 

Her presence still unknown, or most likely ignored, Mal stepped inside. She twisted the knob on the wireless, leaving only silence between them. At this, Regina looked up sharply. She stood, sweeping her silk kimono robe closed as if she had to hide something Mal had never seen. 

"I'll never understand why you have to bring that." Regina sneered at the heater as Mal leaned it against the wall before draping her jacket on the nearest chair. "It's hardly necessary here."

"You can call it inefficient. Inelegant, most certainly," Mal said, working the knot of her tie as she stepped toward Regina, "But unfortunately also necessary."

"Just what was all the commotion tonight?" Regina crossed her arms, but Mal wasn't deterred. She finished crossing the room. 

"It seems your sheriff has enlisted the help of our friends with the Prohis.” With her tie and collar loose, Mal began on her buttons, working them with one hand, enjoying the feel of the purple silk of her shirt on her fingertips. Finally, once she reached the window, she took Regina by the elbows. "You wouldn't have anything to do with that, now would you, Reggie?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Oh, how many times had Mal taken hold of Regina only to enjoy the way she pulled away. In her haste, Regina knocked over the chair she had been sitting in, and her kimono fell open, exposing her chemise. The silk was buttery soft under Mal's hands as she took Regina by the waist, pulling her close only to have her pull away a moment later.

"I have no more reason to want the feds here than you do," she snapped, tossing her dark bob back out of her face. "What happened?"

"None of your concern." Mal shrugged out of her suspenders, letting them hang. She pulled her shirttail out of her pants and slipped it from her shoulders. Then she took Regina's cigarette case from the vanity and crossed to the settee. "Gimme a light, will you, Reggie?" When she sat, Mal could feel her pistol against the small of her back, holstered above her undershirt. She took out one of the ciggies and placed it between her lips. 

"Don't call me that." But Regina was already crossing the room as she struck a match. Mal leaned forward, meeting the flame with the end of the cigarette only to have it plucked out of her mouth once lit. Regina took a long drag before settling on Mal's lap, placing the ciggie between her lips once again as she said, "Town business is my business."

Mal wrapped one arm around Regina's waist and took the ciggie back with her free hand. "On the contrary, Madame Mayor, the less you know, the better." She took a long drag and blew out rings of smoke. "And I'm not here to be interrogated."

Regina began to protest, as Mal knew she would, but Mal quickly stopped that with a kiss, tasting tobacco and a hint of apple. She held to Regina's waist tighter and ran her other hand up Regina's thigh, leaving a trail of smoke hanging in the air.

"No, but..." Regina sighed softly as Mal began kissing her neck. Mal ran her hand under the chemise, feeling the silk warmed from Regina's skin. 

"Unless you'd prefer that to be the sum of our interactions tonight." Mal kissed underneath her ear, lingering at the spot as she pressed her fingers between Regina's legs. A low moan escaped Regina's lips, and Mal smirked. No, she didn't think so.


	2. Chapter 2

So, this was Storybrooke. Emma put her bank box of files on one of the desks, disturbing a fine film of dust. She took the sheriff's office in as the motes danced in the dim light. Two cells, one of which was occupied by a man reeking of booze.This hardly seemed like the place to send a federal agent, but then again, that was probably why they sent her specifically. She put her hands on her hips, her shoulder blades cracking as she stretched back. 

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

Emma turned. "I'm setting up my desk, Sheriff." She hadn't gotten a good look at him in the dark and the commotion of the street fight, but now she took him in. Unkempt hair, dark grey eyes, and another Irish transplant by the sound of his accent. His hands were on his hips as well, and he made no effort to conceal that he was ready to reach for his holstered gun. "Agent Emma Swan. Bureau of Prohibition, Boston office." She offered her hand.

And he promptly ignored it. "We don't need you here, Agent Swan."

"Uncle Sam says you do. Your town has a bootlegging problem, Sheriff Humbert." She glanced to the sorry son of a bitch in the tank and shook her head. "And clearly it isn't being taken seriously."

"Call me Graham." He rolled his eyes. "A few bathtubs of gin is hardly a conspiracy for the feds."

Emma licked her lips as she stepped closer to him. "Are you on the level, _sheriff_ , or do I need to pull your file first? Because what just happened out there with the Tommy guns and the hooch...that wasn't about a couple'a bathtubs full of gin." 

He matched her step and leaned down until they were almost nose to nose. Emma breathed in to see if she could smell it on him too, but all she got was a hint of cologne and the musk of his beard. "You think I'm on the take?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

"Don't think I won't hit a dame."

She stood a little taller on the balls of her feet. "Call me a dame again and see if I won't hit first."

It would hardly be Emma's first fight with a man whose balls were too big for his trousers, but he backed off and smirked. "Boston's a long drive. You'll be wanting a room at Granny's before you head back in the morning."

"I got no beef with you, sheriff, if you're as straight as you pretend to be, and I don't wanna be in this town just as much as you want me to go. But I'm not leaving until my job's done. Get used to it." She crossed her arms and nodded towards the occupied cell. "What's his story?"

"Starting your investigation already?"

"No reason to beat around the bush." She began to rummage in her pockets. "Can you butt me?"

"Don't smoke on duty."

Emma stopped for a moment, looking up at him. "Jesus. A person's got to have at least one vice." She went back to her pockets, finally digging out a stray cigarette.

"Mr. Nolan over there might agree," he said, nodding to the man in the cell. You don't need to bother with him. He don't know nothin' from nothin'."

"That so?" Emma said, words muffled by the ciggie between her lips. "All the same, I want to interview him before you release him."

Graham shook his head. "I told you, he's harmless. He's been like this since he came back from the war--shellshock."

They were quiet for a moment. The sheriff's face might have been impassive, but his eyes were distant, and that told Emma most of what she needed to know. She'd seen that look on too many men's faces. "Poor bastard's still getting it from somewhere, and I'm going to find out where."

Graham pulled out the chair at his own desk and propped his feet up after he sat. He put his arms behind his head and leaned back. She didn't like how he looked at her, like he was taking his time sizing her up and smirking about it. "You're welcome to him...and to his wife when she comes along to collect him."

"Oh, yeah? Piece of work?"

He let out a snort. "You could say that--teetotaler even before the amendment." He pointed to the hooks along the wall. "Hand me that hat, will you?"

Emma took one last drag and snubbed her cigarette in an ashtray before grabbing the hat and tossing it to him. He fitted it onto his head neatly only to pull it down over his eyes. "Sleeping on duty's okay, then?"

"No need to keep one eye open with you here, Agent Swan."

She shook her head and glanced back at the cell. The rummy in the cell would probably be out for a while, and Graham was already beginning to snore. She resisted the urge to push his feet onto the floor and started to unpack her files, wishing for a cup of hot coffee as company.

The light in Regina's window was exactly what Graham was expecting to see, but his frown only deepened when he walked down the path to find someone closing the front door behind him. Mal Lindwurm stopped to take in the air and offered him a knowing smirk as she adjusted her hat.

*****

"Bank's closed, sheriff."

"That so?" He jammed his hands into his pockets looking up to see the light in the window wink off before he leaned his back against the door. "Butt me, will you?"

Mal took out her cigarette case and placed one in her mouth, lighting it before handing it to him. "What the hell was that about earlier? Who called the feds?"

"Sure as hell wasn't me. Maybe her highness found a better deal."

Mal scoffed. "I doubt it." She pulled the flask out of her pocket and took a long swig before offering it to Graham. "You take care of it?"

He nearly choked on the drink he'd just taken. "For fuck's sake, Mal, you don't just shoot a bull. She forgets to check in and they send ten more"

"You're right." She grabbed the flask back, frowning. "Well, ain't this a fucking pickle."

"I told Gold the operation was getting too big."

"You don't tell Gold anything he doesn't want to hear." A long silence stretched between them. "We'll just have to handle this with a little more finesse."

"Yeah, and how's that?" He flicked the butt to the ground and ground it down with his heel. 

Mal turned to face him. "Pipe down, and leave this to the big kids, sheriff. This is above your pay grade." She turned on her heel. No use wasting words with the constabulary when he may just as well be the one who brought the government down on their heads. 

"Hey, Lindwurm."

Mal turned at the sound of his voice. She stepped back into the light, raising her eyebrows. 

"You, ah…" Graham paused, looking up to Regina's window. "What I mean is...Reggie seeing you exclusively these days?"

"Don't call her Reggie." Mal pursed her lips. The sight of Regina's dark hair spread across her pillowcase, her eyes half closed in a sated, almost-sleep still warmed Mal. She blew smoke through one of her nostrils and flicked her cigarette to the walk. "She sees who she likes."

"Seems to like you quite a bit these days."

Mal snorted, crushing the fag with her toe. "You enjoy your evening, Sheriff."

*****

There didn't seem to be much to Storybrooke, Emma had to admit, from the main street at least. But a town surrounded with woods had the potential for secrets. She stopped her stroll to stare across the street at the clock tower, cocking her head.

“It’s been stopped as long as I can remember.” Emma turned towards the voice to find a well dressed women with a perfectly manicured bob. “You must be the government agent.”

“Word gets around fast.” She offered her hand. “Emma Swan.”

The woman’s gloves were soft against Emma's palm. They were some color too close to white for Emma to remember the name of the color. But this woman--she could tell this woman would know it and fifty similar shades besides. “Mayor Regina Mills. Storybrooke is a small town, Agent Swan. Arrivals such as yourself garner interest.”

“Well, it wasn’t so sleepy last night, Madame Mayor.”

“Yes, that certainly was alarming. You think bootleggers were passing through, then?”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Passing through?”

“Surely you don’t think…” The mayor smiled, and it was a politician’s smile through and through--it didn’t reach her eyes. “I hardly think Leroy’s home-brew could reach the level of an operation needing your attention, Agent.”

“I don’t think I need to tell you that your town is ideally situated to run a major bootlegging operation.”

The mayor stepped back, as if affronted. “Actually, I wouldn’t know anything about such things. I resent the implication that..”

“There was no implication, Madame Mayor.” Emma pursed her lips. “My office got a tip that hooch is coming into Boston from your town, and like it or not, I’m gonna find that operation and shut it down. 

“And my office will help in any capacity.” The evenness in her tone barely concealed her hostility. Emma felt it crackle through the morning air like it was electricity. “Good day, Agent Swan.”

“I hope so,” Emma said to Regina’s back.


	3. Chapter 3

Regina stepped into her office and carefully removed her cloche and gloves, stopping to smooth her bob in the mirror. She lingered there for a moment as if her reflection would tell her how they could get out of this mess. 

“Good morning, my dear.” She whirled around in time to see her mother rising from the desk, smiling knowingly. “You always were your own greatest admirer.”

“Mother, what are you doing here?” She removed her other glove and pursed her lips. “I don’t recall seeing your name on my appointment ledger.”

“Don’t be cross, Regina. Since when do I need an appointment to see my own daughter?” Cora rounded the desk to Regina and took a lock of her hair between her fingers. “I can’t understand why you young women insist upon butchering your good looks in the name of _liberation_. Such a pity when beauty is such an asset.”

Regina batted her hand away. “I’m a busy woman, Mother. What do you want?” She sat behind the desk and began to sort through the correspondence her secretary had opened for her and arranged. 

“Don’t you forget—” Cora said as she leaned across the desk and took firm hold of Regina’s chin, forcing her to look up, “How you got here, girl. I didn’t sacrifice my youth, my freedom…”

“Feel free to return to that filthy burlesque theatre in Boston.” Regina sneered, but she didn’t pull away. “I hardly think marrying up was a sacrifice. As for me, I have power and wealth. I can’t imagine what might be disappointing you.”

“What do you plan to do about the agent who came into town last night?” She let Regina go and straightened, crossing her arms.

“That's hardly something for you to worry about."

“Your father worked to make this town something with his shipping business. I would hate to see that destroyed.”

“Oh, this town is still something, even if we aren’t shipping everything Daddy expected. Luckily, our Agent Swan will find Storybrooke’s industry beyond reproach. And if, somehow, that isn’t the case, none of it will tie back to me.”

“You hope.” The silence built between them, broken only by the sounds of life outside—the clatter of wheels, distant laughter, a newsboy calling.

“As pleasant as it is to visit with you…”

“Madame Mayor, I didn’t realize you had a prior appointment.” Regina looked up to see Gold standing in the doorway, smirking as usual. He wore a pale green shirt with a white clubbed collar with a garish tie, as was the fashion. Regina pursed her lips tightly as he tossed his hat onto the sofa. “I hate to interrupt.”

“My mother was just leaving.” Regina leaned back in her chair. “Weren’t you, Mother.” It was not a question, and Regina’s tone was as dark as her mother’s eyes. But half a moment before she turned, Cora’s face was bright with a brilliant smile. 

“Mr. Gold.” His own lips curled into a smile as tight as hers was fake as he took her hand and kissed it lightly. Regina looked away when she perceived how he lingered just short of too long. 

“Cora, what an unexpected pleasure.”

“Is it?” 

Regina looked back to see that this time his thin smile was genuine. She never liked what passed between them and how it spoke to secrets beyond her reach. Quickly, she stood, smoothing her sash. “Mr. Gold's time is valuable, and so is mine. Goodbye, Mother.”

She stared pointedly until Cora took her leave, and then she sat down again. She steepled her fingers on her desk. “Don’t.”

“Now, now,” Gold said, pulling one of the chairs closer to her desk to sit, “don’t look so vexed, dearie. I’ve merely come for our monthly discussion of the town ledger.” He took a small notepad and a nub of a pencil from inside of his jacket. “Among other matters. We have a problem.”

“And unless it has anything to do with your duties as treasurer, Mr. Gold, I don’t see how I’m to help you solve it. It’s _your_ problem.”

He leaned forward, his face darkening. “A problem for me is a problem for this town, as you well know.”

“I'm sure we can find a way to handle it.”

“I should hope so.” He put his notebook away. "I believe our budget discussion can wait. Though, I must say, I’d hate to endorse a different candidate in the next election.”

Regina leaned forward. Without his money buying most of her votes, she wouldn't be sitting there. But she was not about to cave to threats when the problem was only hers tangentially. "And I'd hate to run again without you on my ticket."

Gold leaned forward, squinting his eyes. "Are you threatening me, dearie?"

"Not at all." Regina's grin spread slowly. "I'm simply reminding you that you are just as vulnerable as the rest of us."


	4. Chapter 4

The coffee at Granny’s was passable, but anything was better than doing her next errand on an empty stomach. Emma got out of her car and closed the door quietly, leaning against it as she looked up at the convent. The day was getting warmer, so she hadn’t bothered to put on her jacket. She pulled a sheet of paper from her vest and unfolded it. The creases were starting to wear through the paper. 

This was the place. Emma sighed softly as she folded and replaced the paper. Almost before she could finish climbing the steps, the door opened. 

“Can, I help you?”

“You Mother Superior?” She put her hands on her hips, and the badge pinned to her vest glinted in the sunlight. 

The nun clasped her hands in front of her. Emma knew she had to be roasting in her black wool, head covered. She was petite, like a fairy in picture books. But her brown eyes were solemn. Emma squared her shoulders. “Well?”

“I am. Can I help you, Agent…?”

“I’m looking into an adoption. A boy born in one of your girls’ homes.” She shifted, looking away for a moment. “Born out West, came here via Boston. I don’t imagine you get too many adoptions here in Storybrooke.”

Mother Superior cocked her head. “Those records are private, sensitive material, and I’m afraid I can’t share such information.”

“I’m a Federal Agent.” Emma leaned down slightly, looming over Mother Superior. “And I’d hate to have to serve you a warrant.” It was a bluff, but Emma banked on it working. She'd learned intimidation tactics from nuns with years on the one standing in front of her. 

A pause. Mother Superior pursed her lips, and Emma thought that she would have made a beautiful woman were she not so shrouded in her vestments. “If you’ll come inside…”

Setting foot inside one of these places was the last thing Emma wanted to do ever again. But she followed. The familiar scent of freshly polished floors mixed with fresh bread, probably baked in house, greeted her. She gritted her teeth.

“Can I offer you something to drink?”

“No.” Emma knew this was a bad idea, an abuse of her office. But it was a coincidence too great to be ignored. She didn’t want to linger, though. It had been ten years, but she could feel the twisted, soaked sheets in her fists, and she could almost hear the cry of the baby she never even got to see.

*****

Emma hurried down the sidewalk to an imaginary appointment at the sheriff’s station. After over an hour and a pot of tea, she would have said anything to get out of the meeting of teetotalers, she'd promised Mary Margaret Blanchard-Nolan she'd attend. She had a hand-written list of grievances in her pocket, and none of them were going to actually lead her to whomever was running Storybrooke’s operation. Mary Margaret was nice enough, but she really had no idea as to the reality of Emma’s job.

She was halfway to the station when she heard the sound of a horse coming closer to her. Storybrooke’s streets still played host to a few horse buggies, but when she looked up, she saw none other than the Sheriff mounted.

“Need a lift?”

Emma scoffed. “Are you serious? What the hell are you doing on that nag?”

“Her name is Applesauce, and I’ll have you know, Agent Swan, that she is a deputy as well as official sheriff’s department transport.”

“Bushwa!” She crossed her arms as she squinted up at him. 

“I’d like to see you get that bus of yours down some of our lesser used lanes.” He smirked. “And I’ll wager it eats more hay than Applesauce here.” He patted the horse’s neck fondly. “She can carry two, you know.”

“Yeah, I bet, but I think I’ll make due with shank's pony.”

“Your loss, Agent Swan.” Another second and Applesauce was trotting away, but Graham had flashed a smile first. Emma had to admit, he wasn’t bad looking…for a local. She chuckled to herself and shook her head. Graham was disarming—that was exactly it. And she was going to have to keep reminding herself that she couldn’t trust him yet. 

As she resumed her walk, her thoughts were interrupted by the loud muttering of a motorbike. She clenched her jaw as it pulled up to her. Its driver was grinning even before he took off his goggles. He killed the engine and stretched his arms. 

“What the hell are you doing here, August?”

He just continued to grin as he shook his head. “Always straight to the point our Agent Emma Swan. You musta forgotten to tell me you wanted to head up here a little early.”

“You look like hell. When was the last time you saw the business end of a straight razor?” She started walking. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched August hop off his bike and begin walking it alongside her. “I don’t need you here for this.”

“Uncle Sam disagrees.”

“Uncle Sam can go fuck himself.”

“Emma, this isn’t a one man operation. Hell, it isn’t even a two man operation, but here we are.” He leaned in close to her. “This operation could account for a good portion of the hooch coming into Boston…”

Emma stopped, facing him. “I know my onions, all right? And I can get the job done.”

“Listen, baby doll…” They were nearing the sheriff’s station, but neither had noticed Graham—sans mount—standing out front as if waiting for them.

“This fella bothering you, Agent Swan?”

“What?” Emma snapped. “No, he’s just…”

August stepped forward wearing his most pleasant, most seemingly innocuous smile, and Emma narrowed her eyes as he interrupted her. “I was just asking the lady if she knew of anywhere to pick up an odd job or two.”

“And I was assuring him that Storybrooke has vagrancy laws on the book.”

“I’m just looking for honest work, Sheriff,” August said.

“See Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker. And if he doesn’t have something for you, you can be on your way.”

“Much obliged.” August turned his bike and grinned as he doffed his hat at Emma. “Ma’am.”

She knew immediately what he was planning, and she didn’t like it one bit. He’d get himself on the inside somehow. He’d be the one in the thick of it when their break came, and he’d be the one who ended up with all of the credit.


	5. Chapter 5

The coffee at Granny’s was passable, but anything was better than doing her next errand on an empty stomach. Emma got out of her car and closed the door quietly, leaning against it as she looked up at the convent. The day was getting warmer, so she hadn’t bothered to put on her jacket. She pulled a sheet of paper from her vest and unfolded it. The creases were starting to wear through the paper. 

This was the place. Emma sighed softly as she folded and replaced the paper. Almost before she could finish climbing the steps, the door opened. 

“Can, I help you?”

“You Mother Superior?” She put her hands on her hips, and the badge pinned to her vest glinted in the sunlight. 

The nun clasped her hands in front of her. Emma knew she had to be roasting in her black wool, head covered. She was petite, like a fairy in picture books. But her brown eyes were solemn. Emma squared her shoulders. “Well?”

“I am. Can I help you, Agent…?”

“I’m looking into an adoption. A boy born in one of your girls’ homes.” She shifted, looking away for a moment. “Born out West, came here via Boston. I don’t imagine you get too many adoptions here in Storybrooke.”

Mother Superior cocked her head. “Those records are private, sensitive material, and I’m afraid I can’t share such information.”

“I’m a Federal Agent.” Emma leaned down slightly, looming over Mother Superior. “And I’d hate to have to serve you a warrant.” It was a bluff, but Emma banked on it working. She'd learned intimidation tactics from nuns with years on the one standing in front of her. 

A pause. Mother Superior pursed her lips, and Emma thought that she would have made a beautiful woman were she not so shrouded in her vestments. “If you’ll come inside…”

Setting foot inside one of these places was the last thing Emma wanted to do ever again. But she followed. The familiar scent of freshly polished floors mixed with fresh bread, probably baked in house, greeted her. She gritted her teeth.

“Can I offer you something to drink?”

“No.” Emma knew this was a bad idea, an abuse of her office. But it was a coincidence too great to be ignored. She didn’t want to linger, though. It had been ten years, but she could feel the twisted, soaked sheets in her fists, and she could almost hear the cry of the baby she never even got to see. 


	6. Chapter 6

August opened the shop door to the scent of oiled wood and old books. He quickly muffled the bell with his hand, looking to take in as many details as he could. Curiosities abounded, but the bell had already done his duty. He had little time to take note of Mr. Gold’s stock, save for crumbling books and a fews antique weapons. The footfalls that preceded the shopkeep were uneven. He noted first, the cane and then the pristine condition of the shoes. August was impressed with the cut of the shopkeeper's suit; business was clearly good. 

“Can I help you?” 

“I’m looking for Mister Gold.” But August could already tell he’d found him. The man carried himself in a way that only came from power—not dignified, but wary.

“You’ve found him.” Gold paused a moment, and August merely opened his arms slightly, welcoming the appraising look. “You haven’t come for the antiques.”

August smirked. “The sheriff said to see you about finding some honest work.”

“Honest work?” Gold cocked his head, a slow, snake-like grin spreading across his face. “And what makes you think there’s honest work to be had for a stranger here in Storybrooke?”

“I have my sources.” August stepped up the counter and leaned against it. “I’m willing to work hard…work my way up in the operation.”

Gold shook his head, chuckling lightly. “I don’t think you belong here, Mister…”

“Booth. August. And let me assure you that I not only belong here but you need me here.” It was clear that working his way in as labor or muscle wasn’t going to be an option. Gold was guarded; August could tell that he didn’t like the idea that enough details of his operation had gotten out to cause a common laborer, let alone the Treasury Department, to track him down. 

“Do I?” Gold stepped behind the counter and leaned closer to August. “And why’s that, dearie? Why would I need a drifter such as yourself when there are willing laborers here, in my own town?”

“Because a problem drove into your town last night,” he paused, reaching into his pocket. August rubbed his thumb over the badge before pulling it out and slapping it down on the counter between them, “and you need my help to manage it.”

Gold eyed the badge, but his face was impassive. “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t.” August grinned. “Unless you’re willing to pay more than this job offers. And believe me,” he said as he straightened. This time when he reached into his pocket, he produced a small flask, “a paycheck is a paycheck.” He took a long swig, filling the silence that began to stretch between them with the taste of whiskey.

“I hate to disappoint, _Agent_ Booth, but there’s nothing for you and your charming partner to find. It’s a pity you’re wasting taxpayer money on this investigation.”

“You and I both know that’s not the case, Gold.” He put the flask away. “After all, you're the one who reported it. Think about it. Talk to your…investors. You’ll find me at Granny’s.”

*****

The caverns beneath the town were an excellent spot for the stills. It was as if Storybrooke had been positioned, built looking ahead for this very time. Here, they kept not only the still but also stored the imports from Canada. Gold patted one of the bourbon barrels that stood stacked, out of the way. Aging the moonshine into whiskey was an investment, yes, but it was one that he believed would pay off when the law continued to stand years from then.

“Why, exactly, are you calling a meeting down here?” Maleficent stepped from behind the still. She was in shirtsleeves, and her hair was in a messy bun. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are newcomers in town. And this place isn’t exactly on the map.” He glanced at the still. “How is our output?”

“It would be fine if we hadn’t lost so much to Uncle Sam’s bullets last night. We need to make up for the deficit or plan a refund.”

“We don’t _do_ refunds You’re going to have to make it happen.”

Mal stepped closer to him, eyes going dark. “I am down here day and night. I know every detail of this still with my eyes closed. It will produce what it produces, and I won’t risk caving this place in by fucking up hard enough to make it blow. You're welcome to double the order from Canada, but don't you dare demand anything more of me." 

“Now, now.” Gold held his hands up and backed away a step. There was a delicate balance between placating her and setting off her temper even more while still getting what he wanted. “We both want the same things, dearie. My resources and your white lightning are making us both rich and will make us richer still. But not if we alienate our customers with deliveries that one up short.”

“They’ll understand,” she said firmly. 

“Of course…”

“I’m sure a complimentary bottle or two from my mother’s cellars will help ease the disappointment.” Regina’s voice cut through the air as she emerged from the passageway, picking her steps on the uneven cavern floor. “Is that what this is supposed to be about? Our losses?”

“In a roundabout way,” Gold answered. 

“The prohi.” Mal pursed her lips. “Give her Leroy's place in the woods; that's what it's for anyway. Better yet, have her fall victim to an unfortunate accident when she finds it. She gets her still, and the prohis in Boston close their case without further inquiry."

“Oh, I have a much better plan, dearie--one that will guarantee our Agent Swan leaves satisfied while we continue business as usual.” Gold grinned. The Prohibition Bureau wouldn’t take them down this time. But true success came with necessary sacrifices. He had no issue making those sacrifices--especially when they were replaceable with assets more easily bought. 

"You want to give her someone," Regina said, realization coloring her voice. She crossed her arms. Gold could see the gooseflesh that had risen on them. The caverns were cool for a silken frock. 

"Who's it gonna be?" Mal asked as she rummaged for three empty jars. She poured three shots from the half full collection jar. 

Gold had to admire the ease with which she moved. It was the ease of years, of a childhood spent learning things that were now second-nature. But he eyed the contents of the jar she handed to him. "The sheriff or the good captain, I imagine."

"It's the heart," she said. Without further preamble, she knocked her share back. "Both the sheriff and the pirate have their uses."

"They do." Gold gulped down the shot. The heart, indeed--he could taste the round, sweet notes of it, but he had to admit that he would not be able to tell where it ended and the tail began. That was an art not dissimilar to magic, and his art, while no less magical, was delicate in different ways. He watched as Regina sniffed before thrusting the jar back into Mal's hand. She would be returning to her office, no doubt. "But their roles can be filled by others no less eager and at less expense."

"Just what makes you think either one of them won't rat on the rest of us?" Regina asked.

Gold merely smirked. "Leave that to me, dearie."

"Seems like we do a lot of that." Mal drank Regina's share, holding it in her mouth for a moment thoughtfully. 

"The less," Gold said as he took a step forward, leaning heavily on his cane,"you know, the better."

Mal pursed her lips and blinked in that unsettling way she had that told him she thought she knew far too little already. She was shrewd, and he almost liked her for it. But he said nothing else, meeting her gaze with only a small smile.

*****

As Gold slid into the booth across from him at Granny's, August made an effort not to look too smug. He glanced around before taking out his flask to pour a tipple into his and Gold's coffee. There was money to be had here in Storybrooke, and Gold reeked of it.

"You're quite bold."

August leaned back. "I can afford to be in a town like this." 

"I can offer you," Gold began, leaning forward, "more than you'll ever make working for our esteemed government, but men like you can only be trusted as far as the money will take them."

"Then you might want to make sure," August said as he met Gold's eyes, "it takes me pretty far."

Gold raised his eyebrows. "You'll be at the docks until I decide I can trust you elsewhere."

August didn't protest. This was a man who trusted no one completely but himself. He couldn't hardly fault anyone else for living by the code to which he chose to adhere. And once he'd made enough, he could disappear to Canada or, better yet, Cuba--maybe somewhere on the Mediterranean, even. 

Smiling, he picked up his coffee. "To your _generosity_."

"Don't make me regret it, prohi," Gold said, his lips curling almost into a snarl. "The docks at midnight. You'll find Captain Jones waiting." He stood and made his exit without ever touching his cooling coffee.


	7. Chapter 7

Cora's days were always full, and nearly a week of a federal agent in town hardly changed that. There was the Inner Wheel Club meeting at which she was not required but cordially accepted owing to her late husband's contributions to the Rotary Club, and after that, she hosted the garden club for lunch, which bled into an impromptu Junior League meeting. Nothing interesting came about, but in a place like Storybrook, Cora had to preside over what she could in order to keep herself occupied. And it was the best way to keep apprised of gossip.

She was sitting alone, taking in the quiet as she sifted through the day's conversations in her mind. Now and then an important nugget of information would present itself, and she would file it away for later use. Mary Margaret Blanchard had not been present, and that did not go unnoticed. The ladies presumed that she dared not show her face after her husband's repeated nights in the custody of the constabulary. Cora could remember Mary Margaret as a spoiled girl on the cusp of becoming a woman when Regina married her father. She was not one to hide. Rather, Cora thought, she would most likely be familiarizing herself with the Prohibition Agent. 

No doubt Mary Margaret would cajole her into speaking at the next meeting of the Temperance Union. And of course Cora would be there. She was smiling to herself when the maid knocked lightly, excusing herself as she announced that Mr. Gold was calling. Cora told her to of course show him in. And she stood, checking herself in the mirror above the room's expansive hearth. 

When he entered, he bowed slightly before coming to her, and Cora kissed one of his cheeks lightly, gripping his shoulders. She lingered there a moment, looking for a much younger man. But it had been a long time since they’d first met. 

“Mr. Gold. To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“I can’t simply drop by for a social call?”

Gold took a seat without waiting for her to offer, as if he were entitled. And Cora supposed he was, after all. She went to the sideboard and began to make drinks. “It’s never just a social call.”

“No, it isn’t, is it?” He paused, and the clinking of ice against crystal filled the silence. “That’s a pity,” he said as he took the glass Cora offered. 

She perched on the arm of the settee opposite him. “Get on with it, then”

“I’m here about Regina.”

“Whatever for?” Cora took a long sip of her drink then smiled. His dealings with Regina had always been strictly his, and Cora had seen little reason to involve herself in quite some time. 

“I want her out of the business.”

Cora scoffed. “I beg your pardon?”

Gold looked at his glass thoughtfully before putting it aside. He stood, straightening his jacket with the care of a man who calculated every aspect of his appearance. Then he crossed to her, his bad leg heavy against the carpet. “There will be casualties in this investigation, dearie.” He put his hand on her knee. “My daughter will not be one of them.”

“She knows how to take care of herself.” It had been a long time since he touched her this way. It stirred desires she had put aside for greater things.

“Regina is…” He cocked his head as he pushed his hand up her thigh, wrinkling her crepe day gown. “too confident. Too cocky. She’s not careful about the company she keeps.”

“Mal Lindwurm?” Cora leaned closer to him. “A passing fancy.” Her lips brushed his ear, and that sent a little thrill up her spine. 

She remembered an afternoon all those years ago when yellow sunlight filtered through the filthy windowpanes of that North End tenement where she shared a room with four other girls. _In the lazy heat of the afternoon one could hear a baby crying and voices speaking rapid Italian. Her hair stuck to her face and her chest. He ran his fingers through the rest that was splayed across the sweat-stained pillowcase._

_“I can take you away from here,” he whispered before nibbling on her ear._

_She rolled into him, touching her forehead to his. “And where would we go?”_

_“Anywhere you want, dearie.” He took hold of her and rolled her on top of him. “I’ll show you the world.”_

_Cora threw her head back and laughed. She didn’t care who heard her through the sheets hung around her bed in some semblance of privacy or even through the paper-thin walls. “What makes you think that’s what I want?” She shifted her weight, feeling his cock getting hard underneath her._

_“It’s what you deserve.” He rested his hands on her hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs._

_“I don’t want to just see the world. I don’t want to deserve it.” She shifted until she pushed herself onto his cock. He moaned softly, but Cora put her fingertips on his lips. “I want it. I want all of it to be mine.”_

_He thrust his hips. “You don’t ask for much, dearie.”_

_“I’m not asking.” She put her hands flat on his chest, palms firm against his skin to still him. And then Cora began to move. She shifted her hips, rocking against his erection. He became a blur to her, and she closed her eyes. The sunlight filled her. She reached between her legs and circled her clit with her fingertip. Pleasure built inside of her._

_Her lips parted, but she came silently. When he flipped her over onto her back, she turned her face to the windowpane, and her eyelids filled with orange red. His moans, the noise of the house…it was all muted against her own plans._

“Good.” Gold’s voice brought Cora back to the moment. “Then Regina will have no trouble letting her go if need be.”

He turned his face into her, and their lips brushed before she turned away. “What are you planning?”

“It’s nothing to worry yourself with, dearie." He took her chin and turned her face back to him. "Now, will you speak to Regina?"

Cora grasped his wrist firmly. Oh, how he liked to be in control. But she was far from her youth, and while his touch might still stir something inside of her, she didn't need him anymore to get the things she wanted. She pulled his hand back to her thigh, making the price of her cooperation clear.

*****

Emma heard Graham's footsteps in the hallway, but she did not take her eyes off of her work as he entered. He had left that morning when a domestic dispute was reported, and he had not returned since. Her thorough search of the office in his absence had yielded nothing of consequence to her investigation, nothing of note at all, really.

She blinked hard when a brown bag and a thermos dropped into her vision. Emma looked up, cocking her head with the unspoken question. 

"Coffee and Granny's apple pie." he pulled a chair across from her desk and sat. "Best in town."

"What are you a catering service now?"

He took the bag and drew out two pieces of pie neatly wrapped in wax paper and tied with butcher's twine. "Didn't want you to get grungy when I brought in a piece of my own." He took the cup off of the thermos and poured before handing it to her.

"Well, aren't you sweet under that hard boiled sheriff's act." She was still eyeing him half-suspiciously as he unwrapped his slice and took a bite directly from it. "And such manners."

"Sorry I'm not swanky enough for your taste," he said as he wiped the crumbs out of his beard. 

"Yeah, because I'm a regular swell." Emma surprised herself by smiling as she unwrapped her own slice. If he was genuine, if he somehow wasn't in out, maybe getting to know him better, having a laugh or two, wasn't so bad.

But if he wasn't... The bite of pie she took tasted like ash in her mouth. If he was in on it and trying to throw her off, she'd just let him in by letting her guard down.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a long, lazy afternoon. A still in the woods was hardly a loss as far as Mal was concerned. But one still was hardly a major operation, and she knew that a raid wouldn’t satisfy the feds for long. Weeks had gone by with nothing, and yet Agent Swan still graced Storybrook with her presence. What she was up to and what Gold was up to were both concerns. 

She stretched, eyes still closed. It was a game. Cat and mouse. And Mal had decided long before Agent Swan that she would always be the cat. Storybrook wasn’t the only place one could make a living; though, she wasn’t ready to leave just yet. She turned to Regina, half deciding she wanted more. But the tension was creeping back into Regina’s shoulders. 

Mal propped herself on her elbow. "What?" 

"It's nothing." Regina shook her head before reaching for her cigarette case. She offered it to Mal. "My mother wants me to get out of the business. She doesn't trust Gold. She brought it up when that woman showed up in town and hasn't let it drop since."

"Not surprised." Mal said as took one out and flipped the case closed. She tapped the ciggie lightly on the silver lid before placing it between her lips. She leaned in as Regina flicked the lighter to life. "None of us trust Gold. But that's not what this business is about, Reggie." 

"I never said I trusted him." She took the cigarette from Mal's lips and took a long drag. "But it wouldn't be in his best interest to rat on us."

"You sure about that?" Mal threw the sheet back and grabbed her trousers from the floor. 

Regina was on her back, cigarette burning between her fingertips, her bare breasts exposed as she stared at the ceiling. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Mal put on her undershirt and paused as she was pulling her suspenders up. "After he goes through Captain Jones and the sheriff, where does that leave us?" She finished with her suspenders. "It leaves us as awfully convenient patsies."

As she narrowed her eyes, Regina propped herself up on her elbows. "He wouldn't."

"We'll see about that, won't we." She sat back down to put on her shoes. “I’ve got to go to the Library.”

“Is that wise?”

Mal looked over her shoulder before shaking her head. “Jesus, Reggie, are you my mother?”

She heard the rustle of the sheets as Regina got up. “That Swan woman found that barrel house in the woods. What’s to say that she won’t go looking for more? It would be a shame for you to end up in a cell because of that place.”

“Reggie.” Mal chuckled as she stood. She rounded the foot of the bed and took Regina’s shoulders. “You could use a drink and a little jazz.” She turned Regina toward her, taking one of her hands; her other, she put on Regina’s hip, and Regina gave only a moment of resistance before they began to sway to music neither could hear. 

“I have Henry.”

“Get a sitter.” Mal put her cheek to Regina’s and closed her eyes as she breathed in the scent of Regina’s hair. 

“There’s my reputation…with this woman here…” Regina shook her head and pulled away. 

They were convenient excuses, but Mal could see how the way Regina’s eyes clouded. She stepped back, and grabbed her shirt, tossing it over her shoulder. Maybe Regina thought it was beneath her—maybe not. But the illusion of propriety she armed herself with was just that. Her reasons were her own business. 

“Sleep well, Regina.” Mal pursed her lips. “And think about what Cora said.”

*****

A haze of smoke hung above the tables, swirling in the candlelight. Gold settled into the corner booth, against the upholstery in a print of racing greyhounds in gold, grey, and black. He fingered his glass. Ursula’s voice made the room closer, warmer. Or was it the lights? He regarded the glass for a moment before knocking back the drink. That woman had real talent. She could have been in Boston or even better, New York. Who knew why she stayed in this place.

He raised his finger to the waitress making her way by in shimmering fringe. A few moments later she was placing another glass in front of him, her toothy grin wide. “Put it on your tab?”

Gold merely nodded. “Please. And, Red, send Lacey over.”

Red winked as she tossed her bob back. No woman’s hair should have been that color. Of course, there was a time when he would have said no woman’s hair should have been that short. 

Another song started—slow, purposeful. He watched Mal Lindwurm descend the stairs and cross to the bar without so much of a glance his way. She knew he would be there, but she barely concealed her disdain for him. It was attractive—a woman who knew her own power and had no interest in sharing it--but he had been down that path before to little avail. 

His eyes finally settled on another young woman as she crossed the floor, weaving her way between tables and dropping smiles, little touches. Gold didn’t mind. The rest was his and his alone. Her tinsel skirt glittered as she sank down into his lap. Her fingered one of the silver tassels hanging from the glass jeweled brassiere she was wearing. 

“Good evening, dearie.”

Lacey smirked as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Affection was so much easier when bought outright. There was no need to second-guess Lacey's motives, and that he genuinely cared for her was an interesting turn of events. What she felt for him--he could scarcely believe it was real, so he didn't bother to question it. 

"You must've needed to catch up on your reading." She was smirking. It was a familiar enough expression given their library speakeasy. One level above them dusty books rotted on their shelving, but down here, the world was new each and every night.

*****

Regina opened the door slowly so it wouldn’t creak. She would have to have someone oil the hinges. The knob warmed in her hand, she was holding it so tightly. Moonlight darkened the room with shadows, but she could see Henry’s face. He slept with his mouth partially open.

“Oh, Henry,” she said softly. She tiptoed to the bed, holding her breath as she sat on the edge. He could sleep through anything now. But she remembered those nights where it seemed like she sat in the rocking chair in his nursery until sunrise waiting for him to sleep more than a moment. It hadn’t mattered. He was hers and hers alone.

After Leo was killed in action, the other wives brought casseroles. They said they understood how difficult it must be. But it wasn’t difficult. Regina had everything she had ever needed now. Leo had never been part of that, not really. The family she craved found her, and he was sleeping soundly, dreaming of dinosaurs and trips to Mars. 

“I love you,” she whispered as she pulled the covers up over his shoulders. She wanted everything for him, absolutely everything. And most of all, she wanted him to be proud of who he was. She didn’t want him compensating for any of her mistakes.

*****

“Having another, darling?”

Mal leaned against the bar, cigarette between her lips. She simply nodded. The girls were back on stage, hips swaying and tassels swinging from their nipples. She turned away; it was a vulgar display of excess where she preferred to keep her own glittering successes to herself. 

“Neat.”

“Your really ought to try a cocktail.” Cruella pushed a blonde curl out of her eyes and hooked it behind one of her ears. “Something bitter, perhaps.”

“She leave the order with you?”

Cruella raised one of her eyebrows as she pulled a folded scrap of paper from between her breasts.. “I hardly expected you to be fetching it.” She smirked and blotted her lips on it before passing it to Mal.

“I don’t want any stray paper marring our fair city’s streets for the prohi to discover.” She smirked as she plucked the list out of Cruella’s hand. Mal read over the contents before striking a match and touching it to the corner of the page. 

Cruella quickly tossed a rag over the burning page, causing Mal to drop it. “For god’s sake!” she snapped. “Must you set everything on fire?”

“A precaution.” Mal picked up her drink. 

“You need to…” Cruella waved her hand as she thought. “To relax. Iff you won’t have a cocktail, I think you should have a go with a girl. Now,” she said as she tapped her chin, “unfortunately Ashley has gotten herself in a family way, but I doubt she’s your type. Ruby Red, perhaps?”

“No thanks.” Mal pursed her lips. She glanced towards the stage door. Cruella made for lovely decor, but it was Ursula that made the place run smoothly. Her head for business was unparalleled. 

“Don’t be so modest, darling. Of course she’s my favorite, but business is business.”

Mal straightened as she swallowed the last of the whiskey. “This is my business.” She set the glass on the bar with a solid thunk, “and the only one I care to engage in tonight.” 

Cruella was an eager madame, doling out girls with the nonchalance of a practiced card dealer. But the unsettling thing was that that’s all they were to her—cards, things, parts of a pretty set she had collected. There was nothing about a whore that Mal found unsavory. Oh, these were well dressed here and pretty, as well as relatively disease free. But they were no different than any others. Women used what they had, and Mal respected that. Cruella…she had little respect for anything. 

“I’ll be in the back.” She pushed off and headed for the stage door. Behind it, the facade of the stage melted away. Girls dashed by, bare breasted in a flash of sequins or feathers and shoes half buckled as they changed for the next act. The air smelled of sweat and cheap perfume. Mal wound her way to a small room in the back and rapped on the dingy door, opening it before waiting for an answer. 

Ursula looked up at her reflection in a mirror lit with buzzing lights. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Don’t push it.” Mal slung her jacket across a sagging sofa and straddled a chair. “The shipment from Canada will arrive at last. How are your stores?” it was a simple matter to make her way up to the Library from the mine and caverns with moonshine, but getting imports from the harbor involved more time and labor. 

“We can handle any unforeseen delays.” Ursula turned to her as she pulled a pearlescent pin out of her hair. “I thought the situation had been handled.”

Mal rested her arms on the back of the chair. “You know I don’t like to get complacent. Gold is too sure of himself where this Agent Swan is concerned, and I don’t like it. He's confident in his plans, and I don't like feeling like I only know half of them.”

“If that much. I’ll see what Lacey knows.”

She shook her head. “Don’t. She likes him too much.”

Ursula smirked. “She likes his money well enough.”

“Don’t we all.” Mal saw Ursula roll her eyes as she turned back to the mirror. A companionable silence fell as she watched Ursula rearrange the pins into something like a crown for her final act. In the harsh light she could see the pearly paint chipping, but on stage, Ursula would look like a goddess. And even if she hadn’t, she sounded like one. 

“Everyone’s got a price, Mal. And so what if she cares too much? Beauty only sells for so long. There are other ways to find out if Gold is up to anything.”

Mal shook her head and stood, stretching her torso. “You and I both know that girls who get goofy aren’t good for business.”

Pausing, Ursula looked over her shoulder. “Are we still talking about Lacey, or have you, perchance, been to see our esteemed mayor tonight?”

“Dry up.” Mal’s voice was brittle. 

But Ursula merely gave her a knowing look before she went back to her mirror. Some things were not worth pressing.


	9. Chapter 9

Emma held the coffee cup to her nose, presumably to combat the heavy smell of fish that clung to every surface and hung in the air from the morning's catch and all the other mornings before that. August was fairly sure it would take him weeks, if not longer, to get it off of his clothes once this was all over. Then again, by the time they were done here, he'd just buy all new ones. His skin and hair were another matter, though. 

"One still in the woods is hardly enough to supply the operation that's funneling booze into Boston," Emma whispered. 

"You know how this goes, Swan. One raid is probably enough to scare a bunch of small town bootleggers off of funneling a bigger operation's booze through their town."

She shook her head, and August could see the muscles in her jaw tighten. "You and I both know there's not a decent city north of Boston besides Portland, and this hole is north of there.Why risk shipping from Canada to Portland when you can come here. If you can't get into Boston by sea, it's the perfect route by land."

"Nothing's coming into this port but lobster and haddock." He gestured to his waxed canvas coveralls, which were covered in fish guts solely for her benefit. "Believe you me. If there were anything else on those boats, I'd know it."

"I'm not buying it. My gut says there's more."

August took her by the elbow and pulled her aside. "Write up the raid, Swan, and go back to Boston." He could see her eyes darken at that, but he only smiled as he gripped her tighter. "It's a paycheck, same as any other job. It just happens to come with a badge. You got nothing to prove to anyone."

"This is just a joke to you." She heard herself saying it as if she hadn't known that all along. 

"It's a joke to everyone--the whole damn world. Who are we to be the morality police?" He went on before she could object. "What? You have an alcoholic daddy? He beat your momma, mess around? He try to come on to you, little Emma getting all grown up and now that you're a real grown up you're going to stick it to him by hounding honest folks looking for a little freedom? Is that it, Emma Swan? You think that badge is gonna bring back whatever it is Daddy and his whiskey took from you?"

She jerked her elbow away from and flung the coffee at him. It splashed down his coveralls, the mug shattering at his feet, and all he could do was laugh at rage that she gulped down in shallow breaths. "You're disgusting"

"Maybe so." He chuckled. "But at least I'm honest with myself."

*****

Gold breathed in the bracing air as he walked down the dock at a leisurely pace. The harbor never much interested him with its smells of salt and fish and sounds of gruff voices over the constant churn of the sea. Here men worked at mending nets and scraping hulls; the sun and salt punished their bones and turned their skin to leather. There were more comfortable ways to live.

He found August with the party of men moving heavy blocks of ice to the stores, and he raised his chin before turning away. When August joined him, Gold began to walk out over the water. 

"Didn't think you were the type to take the sea air."

Gold chuckled. "You don't know a thing about me, Mr. Booth."

"I know enough." They walked to the edge of the pier in silence, buffeted by the wind. When they stopped, August turned his back to the bay. "You know one barrel house in the woods isn't going to get Swan out of your hair. She's a tougher bird than that. So, what kind of long game are you playing, Gold?"

"The kind that gets me what I want." Gold regarded him for a long moment. "A ship from Canada arrives tonight. You'll find yourself helping our esteemed, master distiller transport some of the cargo from here to the mines." He watched August take off the heavy gloves he'd been wearing and stuff them in his pockets. August's eyes were sharp, almost laughing. 

"You want Lindwurm out of the way, and you're willing to sacrifice the mines to keep the land and sea routes up to Boston intact That's why you've increased shipments from Canada gradually.." He shook his head as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "She'll want the stills."

"A small sacrifice. I'm prepared to increase our imports to compensate."

"I won't ask you why you'd take the risk of taking on more imports when you're making decent product here. What I want to know is what makes you so sure Lindwurm won't implicate you?"

Gold smiled. "That," he began as he turned to walk back, "is another gamble I'm willing to make. Let's just say that Ms. Lindwurm's stake in our venture is more than financial."

For all her cool detachment, Mal had visited Regina Mills' bedroom exclusively for quite some time. Gold counted on their involvement to restrain Mal from talking if and when she had nothing else to lose. Of course, that was merely _if_ she could be persuaded to talk to begin with. 

"Emma Swan has a chip on her shoulder, Gold. And you're underestimating her. If she gets Lindwurm, she might just get all of you. And you and I both know it don't hurt me however this shakes out."

"Doesn't it?" He looked at a gull wheeling above them. "Your superiors aren't immune to corruption either, Mr. Booth."

"Christ, Gold. Is there anything you won't do? Threatening an officer of our esteemed government?" August laughed. "I can handle Swan, so as long as you keep my payments coming, we all get what we want."

"I should think so." As the gull dove, Gold turned to make his way back to the shore.


	10. Chapter 10

Emma glanced up from the typewriter she had been pecking at. She caught Graham’s eye and leaned back in her chair, snapping, “What?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Ain’t got time to beat my gums with you, Sheriff. Why are you staring at me?” She adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and went back to the keys. 

“You’re fidgeting, Agent Swan—bouncing your knees.” He leaned back in his chair, arms overhead as he stretched and smirked. “And I happen to know you’re typing one word over and over.”

She reached into the pocket of her coat, which hung, rumpled, on her chair, and fumbled around. It only annoyed her more when Graham leaned forward, offering a loose butt. “What? Were you first in your class in secretarial school?” she said as she snatched it from his fingers and leaned forward for a light. 

"What's eating you, Swan?" When she only answered with a skeptical look and a trickle of smoke from her lips, Graham shook his head. "You don't trust me."

"Would you just back off." She pushed her chair back from the desk, one of the wheels squeaking. "It ain't about the case, and it ain't your beeswax in the first place." She turned on her heel. 

"What about your report?"

"I gotta see the mayor," Emma said over her shoulder as she dropped the cigarette into a mug of cold coffee.

*****

She sat in the silence, fingers hovering above the keys. The emptiness of the closed bar made Mal uneasy. Without the glitter of sequins and the clink of glasses, Mal could see motes of dust hanging in the yellow light. There was a frayed line in the carpet against the bar and a subtle stain on the upholstery of one of the booths. Mal realized she was holding her breath.

She let her fingertips fall to the yellowed ivories; they were worn smooth from countless notes played, from moments that died in the air and lived in memory. The note she played vibrated noisily in its wooden confines, warping slightly once it reached her ears. They really ought to have a baby grand. Ursula's voice deserved at least that much. 

It hung in the air, overwhelmed by the quiet, and before the overtones faded away, Mal began to play. She closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly, still for a moment as if in prayer. One, two, three...one, two three...Her upper body swayed to the waltz. 

"I didn't know you played."

A chord hung in the air unresolved as Mal straightened and slid her hands back. "You never asked."

She slid the cover over the keys with care that bordered reverence before she stood, taking her hat from the piano's lid. The chairs upturned on the tables looked like spindly ghosts waiting to be served. She fingered the brim of the hat before hanging it on one of the upturned legs.

Ursula was leaning against the bar with a drink in her hand. How long had she been there? Her face was plain and hair unadorned. This was the woman, not the siren. 

"You're a mysterious woman, Mal Lindwurm."

Mal took her flask out of her pocket and unscrewed the cap as she crossed to the bar. "The mystery is why I'm here in the middle of the day at your request." She tipped her flask, and Ursula met it with the rim of her glass. Only then did Mal take a drink. 

"I have information."

Mal pursed her lips. "Don't be coy."

"Shrewd and coy are not the same thing."

"So, this is about Gold." Mal screwed the top back on her flask and put it away."What do you want?"

Ursula swallowed the last of her drink slowly, stalling or savoring it. "I need more than a case of this or that without Gold getting a cut."

"I already asked you what you wanted." Mal's voice was dark. She had little use for games. Politics was Gold's purview, but becoming complacent with that had left her too vulnerable. 

"I want him gone, and I want a piece."

Mal crossed her arms. "Not asking for much, are you?"

"I'm not asking for his piece." She reached behind the bar for a bottle and another glass. Ursula was smiling as she poured a tipple of what smelled like gin for them both. "Just, let's say, fifteen percent."

"Ten." Mal took the glass. 

"Twelve."

Mal shook her head. "Nothing if you won't spill why this is worth it."

Ursula sighed softly as she shook her head. "I have it on good authority that Gold has increased his orders from our neighbors up North--covering his ass in case something unfortunate happens to you or your stills. But you already know that, I assume." 

"I don't pay for things I already know."

Finally, she called over her shoulder into the kitchen. "You can come on out, hon."

*****

  
Her legs felt heavy, like every footstep to the mayor's office was a slog through icy water. She gritted her teeth to keep herself going. Ever since her visit to the nuns, what she'd learned burned inside of her like an ulcer. The receptionist had given up trying to stop Emma from going in unannounced, but Emma almost wished she'd try again, just this once. All Emma needed was the excuse to turn away.

But the woman behind the desk merely made herself look busy without meeting Emma's eyes. There was no stopping now that she was on the threshold, but Emma paused, a hiccup in her step. She caught her reflection and for a moment saw the scared, determined girl she'd left so long ago. 

"Agent Swan." Mayor Mills set aside a stack of papers, frowning. "What could you possibly need now?"

"You got a kid." Emma swallowed and licked her lips. So much for subtlety. "You adopted him from the Catholics."

Regina stood. "I beg your pardon, but this is hardly appropriate." Her cheeks were beginning to flush, and Emma could feel the heat in her own. The last thing she'd meant to do was start by pissing the woman off. "You have absolutely no right to come in here and question me about my personal life."

Emma held up her hands as if to prove that she meant no harm. "He's mine..." As soon as she said it, she realized what that must sound like to the woman who had raised the child for the past ten-odd years. She shook her head, fumbling for words, "Not mine... I just...I gave him up. I couldn't...I was pretty much a kid myself, and I just...they took him, and I never saw him again...and I found out he was here."

"Am I to understand," Regina began slowly after a long moment of silence, "that you've used your position to discover private, sensitive information and subsequently launched a false investigation to...to insinuate yourself into my son's life?"

"No!" Emma gulped the air like it would help somehow. "No. I didn't...look, it was a coincidence--the investigation was. Honest."

Regina crossed her arms as she rounded her desk. Emma watched her perfectly manicured fingernails--blood red in the center with the tip and moon of the cuticle naked--rather than look at her face. 

"What do you want?" Regina's voice was tight. "What do you want with Henry?"

Emma shook her head again, and she finally dropped her hands. "Nothing. He's your kid."

"Yes." Regina's voice was stronger now, as if she were slamming a door. "Yes, he is."

She wanted to say more, to make Regina understand. But Emma knew there was nothing else to say; there was no way to adequately express this sudden need to know that the baby, that Henry, was safe. After all, she hadn't let herself feel that need for so long. She nodded as she backed up a step, shoes scuffing the floor lightly. This was a distraction that was threatening to unravel her after all the time she'd spent getting herself together.

*****

Mal looked over the newcomer carefully. He was unassuming, handsome with some scruff on his face but otherwise put together. His clothing was neat; however, she could tell it was not bespoke. She pursed her lips.

"Am I supposed to recognize you."

The man held out his hand. "Neal Cassidy, ma'am."

She did not shake it. There were far better ways to measure a man's worth, and Mal reserved the touch of her hands for few other people. "Charmed, I'm sure."

"Mr. Cassidy has...mutual interests."

"Says you," Mal replied, eyes still on him.

"You're working with my father," Cassidy said, shifting his hat between his hands. 

"Gold?" Men sowed their oats, it was true, but Mal didn't bother to hide her surprise that Gold would let any hall unattended. 

Ursula leaned forward, ashing her cigarette into her now-empty glass. "Now you're on the trolley. It seems that Mr. Gold has a much more sordid history than we gave him credit for."

"He had to make the money somewhere before Prohibition." He wouldn’t be the first man. Mal was becoming impatient, but she kept her face placid. “Why don’t we cut to the chase.”

“His name wasn’t ‘Gold’ when he came from Scotland with my mother, but that probably doesn’t surprise you.” Cassidy stepped behind the bar and began pouring himself a drink with practiced ease. “He took bets, fixed odds, fixed games,” he said conversationally as he busied himself behind the bar making cocktails for all of them. ‘Never too early in the day’ seemed to be his attitude. “I was pretty young then, when we were in New York…this dirty tenement, just like everybody else.”

“A charming story.” Mal pulled out her cigarette case, resigned.

“Yeah, charming. My ma…well,” he continued as he poured his concoctions into three highballs, “she had aspirations above 'wife to a deserter', and she was gone pretty much as soon as I could walk.” He placed the glasses in front of them.

Mal picked hers up and sniffed it before taking a sip. Mint and a hint of lime, balanced with the liquor and the velvet taste of Granny's honey. “Is there a broader point to this sob story?”

“When my pops became Mister Gold, we got up and out, and the more he made…” He shrugged. “I struck out on my own. The point is…”

“The point is,” Ursula cut in, “you know he doesn't play well with others for long. You need leverage."

Mal blew a ring of smoke into the air. “And you’ve just handed it to me in the form of a thirty year-old court martial threat?”

Cassidy leaned on the bar, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’m willing to bet you know him well enough to know that won’t scare him. I’m your leverage.”

At this, Mal didn’t bother to hold back her smirk. It was hardly a stretch to imagine Gold in his past lives. One didn’t become so shrewd without some sort of sordid tales to tell. “Gold—a family man.”

“Who’d’a thought, right?” Cassidy grinned. 

“What’s in it for you?”

At this, his eyes darkened even as he continued to keep his posture open. “I have my reasons for helping you.”

“That’s hardly a reason to trust you.”

“He’s all right,” Ursula said, pushing away from the bar as if to physically break the tension. “I can vouch for that.”

Mal took another sip of the cocktail before pushing away as well. “He’s a hell of a bartender, at least. We can talk about the rest later. I’ve got business.”


	11. Chapter 11

The sun would be setting soon. Long, summer days had begun to shorten weeks before, but it seemed like the leaves outside of the windows were just beginning to turn. Emma shoved her hands in her pockets even though she didn't feel a chill as she walked from her room at Granny's. She could see the silhouette of a man waiting in the shadow of the stoop, and she tensed, thinking it was August.

When she got closer, Emma blinked hard but resisted the urge to rub her eyes. She'd been a kid--a stupid kid with butterflies in her stomach. And she thought she knew better now. Underneath that old feeling was nausea. 

"Neal?" she gasped.

His smile was just as she remembered it, slightly self-conscious as if he knew how boyish he could look. "You didn't make it easy for me to track you down."

"You didn't seem like you cared to try." Her voice was not as steady as she wanted it to be. Ten years...and almost every day had been a struggle. Every day with him had been one too, but at least it hadn't been lonely. She brushed past him, ducking inside and knowing he would follow. 

"Emma..." He got in front of her and held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness as he continued, "I never meant for you to get pinched, honest. I would've tried to bail you out, but you know how deep I was in..."

"Ancient history."

She tried to turn, but he took her by the elbows. His touch was gentle, and Emma thought he actually looked pained. "You done okay for yourself," he said, nodding to the badge clipped to her vest. 

"I was still a kid. They shipped me off to the nuns," she said in a harsh whisper as she pulled away from him. "I was too stupid to know a drugstore cowboy from a gentleman. And this job...well, they ain't so discriminating as they could be."

"That's all you think of me? That I was just hangin' around waiting for any old dame to show up?"

"Well, weren't you? Find a girl, talk her ear off, get her to help you pinch some pretty things to pawn, and knock her up and leave her to Catholic charity while you skip town and everything's just ducky for you."

His dark eyes went wide and he gripped her arm tightly. "You got a kid? My kid?"

Emma thought she detected genuine surprise, genuine hurt in his voice. "That's why you left, isn't it? I was pissing every five minutes, and you'd said yourself that I was eating us out of house and home. That's why you left."

"Emma, I got thrown in the tank for drunk and disorderly that afternoon we were supposed to meet after you pawned the jewelry. I didn't know...if I'd known..." His eyes were suddenly far away and his grip became gentle. "I woulda done the right thing. I woulda gone straight, married you..."

All of the memories that, when she had gotten to Storybrook, had begun to trickle past the barriers she'd built in her own mind began to sweep over her. She would drown in them if she wasn't careful. And losing herself meant losing herself to him again. "It doesn't matter now," she said, extracting herself from his touch. "The nuns took care of it all--took him before I even could look at his face."

"I have a son?"

"Had," Emma snapped. "So you can stop making whatever half-baked plans you're cooking up. Because he's somebody's else's kid, and you can't just whisk him and me off to Atlantic City or Miami for some kind of life that isn't ours to live."

He looked like she'd just kicked him in the balls, but Emma had to think about herself. She had to think about the bruised knees from hours of prayer. She had to think about the hungry days and cold nights she'd spent once they tossed her out to fend for herself. Neal had been long gone by then. 

"Let’s fix this."

Emma rolled her eyes. It was either that or scream before putting her fist right between his puppy-dog eyes. The last thing she needed was to cause a scene in the back hallway at Granny's. "I've got work to do."

"I can help you, Emma."

She shook her head, backing away. "I don't want your help. Don't need it. I don't know why you're really here, but I don't want any part of it."

Before he could answer, Emma was stepping away, into the evening air. She began walking quickly with no direction in mind, and she welcomed the way the air burned with each breath as she held back tears. It was time to get the job done and get out of town. 

She nearly barrelled into Graham and had to shake her head to get her bearings. He was smiling. It seemed like he was always smiling at her. "You okay?"

"Just ducky," Emma mumbled, jamming her hands back into her pockets. She glanced back towards Granny's just in time to see Neal stepping outside, coming after her. Graham followed her gaze. 

"Another drifter looking for work, Agent Swan?"

Emma sighed as she shook her head. "Leave it."

He wasn't going to. Graham took her by the shoulders gently. "Emma, tell me what's going on. You've been…" He shook his head and sighed, as if looking for words. "This investigation was all you gave a damn about, and all of a sudden you're a million miles away."

"This guy bothering you, Emma?" She didn't realize Neal had jogged to close the distance between them. 

"Funny," Graham said, letting Emma go. "I was just about to ask her the same about you."

"This ain't your business, fella, so I suggest you take a step back."

Graham took a step closer. "I don't think the lady wants your company."

"Says who?" Neal stepped up to meet him, and to Emma, they both looked like cocks puffed up before a fight. She blinked as Neal shoved Graham, and in what seemed like the next instant, she was pulling them apart. 

"Hey!" She shoved them both in opposite directions. "You two can mind your own damn potatoes. I ain't a lady." She shot a glare at Graham then turned back to Neal, "Are you off your nuts?" She shoved him again, this time both hands pushing against his chest. 

"You with this mulligan now?" Neal spit on the ground. 

Emma threw up her hands. "I'm with me, myself, and I, Neal...just like I've been since the day you disappeared." She didn't wait for a response, and she didn't turn to see Graham's expression. Let them stay there and bash each other's heads in. She had work to do, as Graham had been so keen to remind her.

*****

The sunset sure was something, August had to admit. Pinks turned to oranges and purple gold, all broken and remade a hundred thousand times in the waves that lapped against the pier. It would be dark soon enough, but he'd already sent a boat out to meet the Canadian barge. The waters here made for a perfect party barge setup, but with Storybrook's underground being so literally present, that wasn't necessary.

The truck would meet him and the boat upon its return after darkness had really fallen, and then they'd be on their way to the mines. August admired the setup. It kept a good part of the town employed, and they had a thriving nightlife, for such a sleepy little place. But the value in a bust like this was the supply line to the bigger, better fish. Portland and Boston might have been hours away, but they'd feel a pinch in the supple Gold and Lindworm had going. He'd made enough friends with full pockets along the way to keep that from completely happening. But Lindworm would satisfy his duties enough to earn his paycheck. He knew Emma would be a problem, though. 

August took out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He lit it with a match, letting it burn down to is fingertips before snuffing it out. 

"A bit late for a dock worker to be here, no?"

He turned at the voice, finding an older woman, hair swept back standing just where the fading sunlight couldn't reach. "What can I say?" August took a drag of the cigarette. "I like the view."

"I'm sure. Cora Mills." She extended a gloved hand and he took it briefly. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the mayor's...older sister?" August grinned, fag between his teeth.

"You may save your flattery for someone it's likely to sway, Mr. Booth. I won't mince words. I know who you are and what you do." She stepped into the light, and her dark eyes flashed. "I have a proposition for you."

"I'm all ears."

"Your partner has been tireless in her efforts--commendable, if misguided."

"She ain't a dumb Dora." August accepted that she wasn't bluffing. He could see in Cora's eyes that she was a woman who could bluff her way into or out of anything, but she rarely needed to. "How about you cut to the chase?"

She pursed her lips. "I'll double what Gold is paying you for the duration of your tenure in Storybrook as long as you keep my daughter's name out of it."

"Might've never known she was in it if not for this little visit." He flicked his butt into the ocean. 

"A calculated risk. Do we have a deal?"

August turn to face her head on and made no bones about looking Cora over. He could haggle, get her to pay more than double. But this was a discerning woman, not a desperate one. "I'll keep your daughter out of it when things heat up. You just make sure to keep the cash coming in."

"Naturally." She nodded and stepped back into the lengthening shadows. "A pleasure doing business with you, Agent Booth."

He turned his back to her to catch the last of the light splintering on the horizon. There was money to be had in Storybrook--too much of it. It was a shame Emma would end up cutting his stint there shorter than it needed to be. But he could keep her running in circles for a little while longer, at least.

*****

Neal pulled the cork of the bottle of champagne, grinning at each young woman in a group at the bar as he poured it into their glasses. He poured the final one for himself and toasted their good looks more merrily than he felt. On stage, the girl they called Red danced behind feathered fans. She made her come-hither smile seem like it was for him and for him only, and he knew that every other man in the room felt the same way. He winked at the girls and began to serve the next patron.

This one gave him pause, but he worked not to show it. He slid an empty glass across the bar and poured two fingers of scotch into it. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Pops.” 

“Bae…”

“It’s Neal.” Silence stretched between them for too long a beat. Neal took the scotch he had poured and drank it quickly for himself. “Why don’t we step upstairs.” It wasn’t a question. Neal whistled through his teeth to Cruella, who was lounging at the end of the bar, and jerked his head towards the door. “Gotta see a man about a horse.” That got him an eye roll as she slid off of the stool. 

Neal didn’t wait for further confirmation. He walked briskly through the door to the back and up a little used stairway. In the echo of the stairwell, he could hear his father’s limping footsteps, the way he took the stairs slowly. They emerged in the dusty library. It may have been the pride of such a small town at one time, but now it gathered dust. Pale light from the street lamps, not yet electric, shone through chinks where boards didn’t quite cover the corners of some of the windows. It was mostly dark. 

He stopped just outside of one of those sickly shafts of light. Neal could just barely see his father’s face. He took out a cigarette, lit it without offering one. 

“Hear you're going by 'Mister Gold' these days," he said, cigarette in the corner of his lips. 

Neal had been born in New York along with so many children of newly arrived immigrants. He knew enough to piece together that his mother had fallen pregnant before she married his father and before they got on the boat. And his mother—he had hazy memories of her voice, of her long face and deep, brown eyes. At least, he thought that was what she looked like. She’d taken off when he was barely walking and apparently hadn’t looked back. Who knew where she’d gone? Maybe she’d found a sailor and smuggled herself back to England or India. Maybe she’d found a nice sugar daddy who set her up real good. 

He’d split as soon as he could fend for himself selling news, running errands, and filching whatever he could whenever he could. His father had been on the rise, but Neal had to get away from the threats, the anxiety that came with his father’s growing power and influence. He’d tried, though—at first. He’d begged his father to get a straight job and even looked around for some. Neal remembered living in constant fear that his father would be hurt or killed for his bookmaking or worse that he would become like the thugs who did the killing. But his father had ultimately chosen that life.

“How did you…” His father shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad. I’m glad you found me, Bae…Neal.”

“Yeah, well. Times is hard,” he said, shrugging. “Figured you might be running something…”

“I can help.” Gold stepped into the light and reached for him. His dark eyes were pleading, hopeful. His grip on Neal’s shoulder was hesitant. “I can give you whatever you need.”

Neal shrugged again. “Just so happens that I fell upon this bartending job, but a little birdie told me you’re the man who makes it all happen.”

His father still held onto his shoulder, but he was squeezing with more confidence and smiling. It was clear he was overwhelmed with happiness, that he wasn’t willing to question Neal’s motives because his desire for the reunion was so great. “This bartending job is nothing compared to what I can give you, son.”

Neal blew smoke out of his nostrils. He was in, and once he knew where the cash was stashed, he could take it and go. Or, if he dared to think it, he could edge his father out, stay, carve a life out here, maybe even with Emma.


	12. Chapter 12

The scent of Regina's perfume hung in the air--bergamot at the head with jasmine and rose mingling together to form the heart atop a base of vanilla and iris, maybe. But underneath that was the scent of something altogether more carnal. Mal held a loose ciggie as she went to the window. She could have lain there for hours drinking in that scent. 

"The less you know, the better." She looked over her shoulder, pursing her lips at the way Regina tightened her face, furrowing her brows. "Don't cast a kitten, Reggie. No one's cutting you out, but you've never been part of the day to day anyway."

"I like to know what's happening with my investment."

"Trust that I know my onions. I'll take care of things, get the prohi out of town and make sure we're still sitting pretty." She closed her eyes for a moment thinking of this business she inherited. Mal hadn't asked for her livelihood to become a crime, but she was hardly the only one. A large part of her longed for the solitude of the little hobby that had been passed down with her family's fortune--a fortune that had begun to dwindle until the passage of the Eighteenth. "I need to go check the stills."

"You could stay." It had become a recurring suggestion--because Regina would never ask--of late.

Mal stared at the windowpane where her own reflection stared back from the twilight beyond. She put the cigarette she'd been tapping against the sill between her lips and inhaled the raisin scent of dry tobacco before lighting it. "Not tonight." She put her hands in her pockets. 

"Or any other night."

"Don't push it, Reggie."

"Why?" Regina asked, anger creeping into her tone. "Why shouldn't I?"

And there it was. Mal might have wondered if Regina had any idea how formidable she could be, but she needn't bother. She had been drawn to Regina because every move she made was carefully calculated. She turned, one hand still in her pocket as she took the ciggie with the other, merely pursing her lips as she ashed into an empty wine glass. 

"You knew what I was offering when you got into bed with me."

Mal could remember the conversation like it was yesterday. She had kept her distance--even when her fingertips itched with the desire to feel Regina's bare skin--until she had said her piece and Regina had accepted that. No strings, no demands. If Regina wanted to see someone else, that was her business. Mal had not voiced that she preferred to have only one lover at a time, to savor every moment until she was finished and pulled away. That was her business, her private preference. 

Regina crossed her arms. The scar above her lip stood pale against the color in her cheeks. "It's not enough."

Mal dropped the fag in the glass before going to her. Regina looked like the spoiled child she most certainly had been once. It was never enough in the end. And here, with Regina before her, she felt a pang of regret. Despite that, she wouldn't play at a picture of domestic bliss that was not meant for them. Mal had vowed that to herself long before Reggie and her dark hair, her perfect skin. She took Regina's face in her hands and pulled her close, leaning down so their foreheads touched. "It will have to be. Now what'll it be, Reggie? cash or check?"

The moment broke with the crack of Regina's knuckles against Mal's face. She touched the split at the corner of her lips with her tongue; the scent of vanilla bloomed between them as Regina breathed raggedly. Mal grabbed Regina by the arms and pulled her close. "I've shared my body with you and traded in secrets. But I'm not here to fill some kind of void, Reggie." She shook her once, gripping her harder. "I'll eat you up--every goddamned bit of you--but I won't be part of dreams you're holding onto with a ghost." Whoever he was, he had been long gone before Mal arrived. 

"You have no idea..."

"I have enough of one." Mal let her go, stepping back. Regina's eyes were dark; there was no unsaying the words, but Mal wasn't worried about that. 

They all had their demons. The moment broke when Regina began gathering Mal's clothes into a rumpled pile that she shoved at Mal. "Get out."

"Who was he, Reggie?" Mal asked as she began to dress herself. She took her time, letting the question settle. "Because he sure as hell wasn't Leo."

"It's none of your goddamned business."

Mal ducked as one of her shoes sailed towards her. It thumped against the wall before tumbling to the floor. She was prepared enough to catch the next one. "Bet he wrote you every day from the trenches…"

A sob broke from Regina's lips, and she crumpled to the floor, hands over her mouth. There were no tears, however, and Mal finished dressing in the silence. She waited until Regina began to collect herself, standing and smoothing her silk slip. 

"My mother encouraged him to go, you see," she said softly without wavering. The quiet intensity in her voice betrayed the rage just beneath her surface. "I'm sure she would have gassed him herself if she could have, but conveniently, the Germans did it for her." She looked up, meeting Mal's eyes. "He didn't have time to write."

"I can't be him, Reggie." Mal crossed to Regina and took her in her arms, kissing her softly. "This'll have to do." Her lips curved into the ghost of a smile and she pulled away, leaving Regina there alone.

*****

Graham found Emma at the station, standing bent over her desk as she shuffled papers here and there without what seemed like a purpose. She didn't even glance up at his arrival.

"This has got to end. I can't keep wasting time in this place raising barrel houses in the woods."

He went to the opposite side of the desk and bent, finally catching her eye. "Take a deep breath. We can get a cup of coffee, talk about what's really eatin' you."

She only met his eyes for a moment before shuffling the papers some more and finally seizing upon one. "We've been looking in the wrong places all along. Look here." She waved the paper, and he could see it was something yellowed and creased with age. "There are abandoned mines and natural caverns...the town is riddled with holes underneath just like something rotten."

"That stuff...those mines are half caved in, unstable. You couldn't build an operation in them." But Emma's eyes burned into him, and Graham could see the distrust she had first greeted him with when she came to Storybrook. "Emma…"

"You knew about them, but you didn't tell me." She pointed at him, paper still in hand, and grabbed her jacket with her other. "You knew."

"You can't go trying to traipse through those mines tonight...it's dangerous." But she was already walking out, leaving him no choice but to follow. "In the morning…"

Emma turned on him at the entrance. He could see her jaw working as she clenched it. "You're no longer involved in this investigation, Sheriff, and if you follow me, I will arrest you, so help me God."

He let her slam the door in his face, fully intending to follow once she was out of sight. He told himself it was self-preservation, and that was enough to let him ignore the tug at his conscience for the moment.


	13. Chapter 13

It was so damned dark that Emma's flashlight was nearly useless in giving her any hints of the boarded-up mine entrance being disturbed recently. Though, it would certainly be a helpful bludgeon if she got attacked by a bootlegger--or more likely a bear or a moose. She ran her fingertips over the weathered boards and sucked in through her teeth as a splinter bit into her flesh. That was just what she needed at this point, an infection. 

She was so absorbed in trying to negotiate holding the flashlight in a way that let her see to get the splinter out that she didn't hear the footsteps until they were too close. Emma whirled around, flashlight poised to strike, but she only found Graham squinting and shielding his eyes. 

"Jesus Christ! You didn't think you should let me know you were here?"

"Don't get in a lather; you're the one who ran off half-cocked. What the hell were you thinking, Swan? You could get yourself killed out here in the daytime, let alone the dead of night."

Slowly, Emma lowered the light. "Yeah well," she snapped. She fleshed her fingers. "Alls I got was a splinter before you showed up. Happy?"

Graham rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "Let's see it."

For a moment, Emma thought to protest, but the energy and anger was starting to drain away, leaving her too tired to keep quibbling over nothing. She held out her hand and adjusted the light so he could see. Graham's touch was gentle. She could feel the calluses on his palm and fingertips. And his hands were warm in the cooling air. Emma narrowed her eyes as he lifted her fingertip to his lips. She was ready to jerk away at the feel of his teeth as he nipped and sucked at her already sore skin. But he did it first, turning to spit. 

"I'd say you'll live." He squeezed her hand for a moment before letting go. 

"Thanks." Emma made a show of examining her finger and then wiping her hand on her pants leg. She turned back to the mine. "There's got to be another way in. These boards don't look like they've been taken off and replaced multiple times. And who'd want to do that anyway?"

"There are dozens and probably more. Who knows how much of it has caved in." 

Emma ignored him and swept her light above and around the entrance, looking for anything out of place, but she turned when she felt Graham's hand on her shoulder. "What now?"

"We'll come back tomorrow, first thing. I'll help you search every inch of this area, and if one of us falls into a sinkhole, at least there will be somebody to go for help. Emma...be reasonable. None of this is going anywhere overnight."

At first Emma tensed, but her shoulders quickly sagged as she admitted to herself that Graham was right. She let out a long sigh. "Fine. First thing, and you're buying the coffee."

They walked in silence for a little while. Emma left her car pulled just off of the main road, and when she refused to get on his horse with him, Graham walked the beast along the sparse trail back. Emma was surprised to find the silence pleasant, companionable even, but that was broken when she thought she heard the sounds of an engine straining.

She put her hand out, stopping Graham. "You hear that?"

"Just some old bus on the road."

"That's not coming from the road." Emma strained to listen again and heard a shout followed by others, an argument. Without considering what she might be getting herself into, she began to make her way towards it.

*****

Graham quickly secured the horse and hurried after her. Emma wasn't hard to follow in the darkness. She sounded like a rampaging elephant, and luckily, she wasn't too far ahead. He caught her elbow, whispering her name as he tugged her to a stop.

"Lemme go," she whispered, jerking away. "This could be it."

"Could be, but by the time you get there, they'll be long gone or be waiting for you guns drawn because they could hear you coming. Not to mention, you might break a leg running like that."

"Yeah? And what do you suggest?"

"Slow and careful," he said, moving in front of her. 

They weren't as quiet as he would liked, but Graham hadn't exactly come to the woods expecting to sneak up on anyone who might be experienced in traversing them. The sounds of voices began to gradually get louder, and he knew they were getting close enough when he could smell cigarette smoke before he saw glints of headlights. 

He stopped and crouched down, motioning for Emma to do the same in the slits of light that reached them. On top of what looked like a blowout, the delivery was late. Graham knew Emma should have missed them entirely. He watched two men working on the tires while another circled the truck, heater in hand with its nose pointed down. A cigarette burned between his lips. 

"That's your drifter," Graham whispered. 

"He's my partner." Graham could hear the scowl in her voice. "And I think he's dirty."

"Ya think?" But Emma hadn't told him until now, perhaps because it mattered the most, or perhaps it was because she finally trusted him. 

Emma started to shift, moving slow, and Graham saw a glint of metal in her hands. She was rising to her feet, but he stopped her. "You can't go charging in there with a pistol." She certainly could, and she'd be cut down in an instant. Graham knew that wouldn't be enough to keep the Feds away. It might bring more, unless her partner could be bought. 

"Doubt you left yours at home, so that makes two pistols. Those two are too busy to react before we have the situation in hand."

Graham shook his head and pointed to the underside of the truck where he could just make out another two sets of legs. "Five in all and probably all armed. Emma, you'll get us both killed." He'd made up his mind without any fanfare. He couldn't help Emma take down the whole operation, but he couldn't watch her get mowed down either.

"So, we just let them go?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and Graham had to resist the urge to jerk her back away from the dirt road. "I can't do that. This is my job."

"Don't be an ass. Nothing says you need to get killed for this. Who wants to die because people want their booze? Think about it, Emma. We got a trail now, and you can come back to follow it tomorrow."

*****

Mal could feel the coolness of the rough-cut stone through her jacket and shirt. She watched as men passed her, each with a crate hiding glistening bottles packed in straw. The light of her cigarette told them where she stood. Further down the shaft, lanterns were turned down low. But here, in the dark, the stepped carefully along the old railroad ties as they'd done many nights before.

She could feel someone approaching her, straying from the line to one of the makeshift cellars. Mal took a pull from the fag, and for a moment, she could see a flash of his scruffy face. 

"Job's nearly unloaded. Full shipment, no issues."

Mal exhaled through her nostrils. "You're late, Mr. Booth. I'd call that an issue."

"Blowout back in the woods. It was either have one the boys ankle down here to let you know or get the tire fixed all the faster." 

She could hear him flip open a case, and before he had gotten the cigarette out, Mal struck a match. In the fleeting light, he winced, but she studied his face. There was nothing there to suggest trust; it didn't help that he was Gold's man. "Mm."

"Here we are, better late than never. Everything's jake."

"And do you think," she began, watching the end of his fag light as he inhaled, "Mr. Gold will see it that way?"

"Is that a threat, Mrs. Grundy?"

"More like a friendly warning."

They stood in silence in the cool dark before Mal heard him take a step backwards. The others would be on their way out by another tunnel by now, and he would return the truck. Mal couldn't guess the extent of August's loyalty to Gold. He was too new, too unknown. But she felt no qualms about spreading seeds of doubt where she could. 

She turned, gravel crunching under her feet. The shipment waited for her inspection, and she would replace the empties in the bar herself. As she neared the dim lights, Mal ran her tongue over her lips, dislodging the scab that had begun to form there. The blood left a tang on her tongue, and she smiled. She'd never be what Regina really wanted. But until Regina realized it, she was content enough not to be too distracted by the possibility that Reggie would realize what she thought she wanted was a fairytale.


	14. Chapter 14

The morning brought an empty station. Emma's commandeered desk was exactly how she left it, except, Graham noted, the old geological surveys she had found the night before were gone. He cursed under his breath. The maps on those things were a hundred years old and couldn't be counted on for accuracy, given cave ins and newer shafts. He didn't know why he'd expected Emma to wait for him. He'd waited the night before after he saw her into Granny's. A half hour, and then another, until his fingers started to get numb in the night air. But Emma hadn't come out again to sneak back to the mines. So, he hadn't expected her to go by herself at first light. 

At the sound of a footfall behind him, Graham whirled around, prepared to admit he'd jumped to conclusions and accept a cup of Granny's coffee by way of apology, but it wasn't Emma that was waiting for her there, thermos in hand. 

"Good morning, Sherriff," Regina Mills said as she raised her eyebrows, "were you expecting someone else?"

"No." Graham rubbed his forehead. "Yes, actually. Agent Swan is generally here already."

"Well, how lucky for us she chose today to be late." Regina sauntered over to his desk and perched on one of the corners. She wore a dress in a burnt orange color that flattered her skin. The trim at the sleeves and collar was black braids of some kind, dark as her hair, and when she crossed her legs, the skirt rose a little, which was hardly a mistake. With the morning sunlight streaming through the windows, she looked delicate, like a bird, but her dark eyes betrayed danger. 

Graham took a step closer. Weeks ago, he was mildly annoyed at having lost out to Mal on an evening with Regina. But he realized he hadn't thought about her much lately. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He nodded as she poured the coffee. "It's not like you to bring me a cup of java." He took the cup when she offered and let it warm his hand. 

Regina cocked her head. "It's been quite some time since we've had a...visit.I might get the idea that you're trying to avoid me."

Graham let the silence stretch a beat too long as he took a long draw from the cup then put it aside. Had he been avoiding her? No. When he thought about it, he realized he hadn't been thinking about Regina at all--not with Emma in town.

"Had my hands full."

"In more ways than one?" She slid off of the desk reluctantly, and when she stepped closer to him, Regina put her arms around his neck. "I certainly hope not."

He pursed his lips. "You've got your own hands full with Mal Lindwurm. Doubt you need any help from me."

"Now, Sherrif," she said, smirking as she pulled herself closer, "You know I'm very good at managing multiple engagements."

She was close enough that her breath was hot on his lips, and it would have been easy to kiss her, to taste the waxy flavor of her ruby lipstick. But he put his hands on her hips and pushed her firmly away. "That you can, but I'm not interested."

She took a step back as if physically rebuffed by his reception. Her cheeks were bright, but he knew she wasn't embarrassed. It was hard to say no to Regina, and Graham knew she didn't hear it often. It was one more risk in the too many he was already taken. And even though he knew he was a fool for it, he continued. He was surprised when he felt the sting of her palm against his cheek, but she didn't stick around to talk about it. And Graham was relieved.

He rubbed his cheek as he heard the door slam behind her. It wasn't unusual for Regina to show up there for a mid afternoon romp. She certainly wasn't above making her needs and desires known. But it had been a while, he realized, and it was usually when she needed something else from him--something he would tell Gold or Lindworm they could go chase themselves for. 

This was something else, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Emma could be lost. She could hurt herself. And as he shook his head and turned for the door, he knew probably neither of those was true. She was just fine plowing through all by herself, and she didn't need him. But if he wanted her to hard enough, maybe it would be true.

*****

The daylight grew thinner behind Emma as she made her way down the tunnel. At the mouth, there were signs of disuse, carefully cultivated and maintained no doubt, but further in, she could see that the bootleggers maintained the rails and carts for their use. She followed the track, keeping her flashlight forward on the cross ties because she could feel the closeness of the rock walls.

The more she tried not to think about the weight of earth above, the more Emma could feel it pressing down on her. She kept her ears open, but all she could hear were her own careful footsteps. And then she came to a three way split in the tunnel. One of the forks was partially caved in. Emma inspected the tumbled rock closely, making sure this wasn't another cultivated ruse, but that rock hadn't gone anywhere for years, and she wasn't about to try and test it out. 

She looked at the other two options, both gaping, black maws. And after a pause long enough to make her aware of her own heartbeat, she shook her head and headed left. 

"This is where you should have bought some bread crumbs, Swan," she muttered to herself. "Not that that ever worked out for anyone."

As she walked on, Emma felt the tunnel begin to widen. When she swept the flashlight beam along them, she could see lanterns. It also seemed like she was heading slightly upward and towards fresher air, the slight breeze was unmistakable. But she began to worry as the walls narrowed the farther in she got. Her heart was beating in her ears, almost obscuring the sound of her own footsteps. She realized the rails had stopped some ways back. The ground was uneven, but she realized the tunnel had stopped and become natural cave. 

Emma stopped and leaned against the cool wall, closed her eyes. She breathed in, tasting the mineral air. "You gotta get it together. Focus. Pay attention. Don't let yourself get trapped down here only to have some bootlegger come pick over you bones."

"That's what happens when you run off exploring mines on your own."

She jumped at the sound, and her flashlight beam jerked over Graham's face. Emma gulped in the cold air. She hadn't even heard a footstep in her direction. And she realized he was in front of her. That they could stumble upon the same place at the same time accidentally and two completely different ways just cemented her suspicions. 

"Anyone ever tell you it's not nice to sneak up on dames in dark caves?" she said once she trusted her voice again. 

"Anyone ever tell you you'd have to be off your nuts to go ankling around abandoned mines by yourself?" He genuinely sounded angry, or at the very least concerned. But Emma was angry too. She shined her light right into his eyes. 

"Oh, yeah? If if these mines are so abandoned, how'd you find me so easy...from a whole different direction?"

"Emma…" He winced at the light but took her firmly by the shoulders. "I'm serious. Maybe you get lost, end up under a pile of rocks down here. Or maybe you have an unfortunate runin with a Chicago typewriter. Either way, you're playing things fast and loose is gonna get you killed."

"How's about you tell me what's going on, Sheriff."

He let out a long sigh and looked away as he ran his hand over his beard. The silence stretched between them until he turned his back to her and said over his shoulder, "Follow me. And for Christ's sake, be quiet."

Emma pursed her lips and bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep herself from retorting. She walked behind him, keeping her light on the ground in front of her. The passage started more sharply upward and she noticed when they started up rough hewn steps in the rock. Finally, they came to a wall that in the light seemed a little too smooth. Like a move out of some kind of detective picture, Graham carefully felt along its edge, and she heard a soft catch before he pushed the wall inward. 

"What the hell?"

He put his finger to his lips and led her forward into a room full of disheveled shelves. Slivers of sunlight filtered in through places where boards hadn't been placed over the windows with much care, and she could see the dust motes dancing in the air. They were in, Emma realized, the library. He motioned for her to follow and took her to the top of a narrow staircase. 

"Leads down to the speakeasy. That's just one of a few entrances."

Emma looked down the dark passage. "So, they bring the booze in from the harbor through the mines…" She looked back at him, her eyes dark. "And the stills for an operation like this? I know that gin mill in the woods couldn't keep an operation like this afloat. It can't be running on imports alone. 

He shifted from foot to foot. "Is it so bad, Emma? People enjoying themselves a little, people trying to make ends meet?"

"It's the law."

"But is it worth all this?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Easy for you to rationalize it when you're on the take. All this time, you been leading me in circles, acting the law abiding sheriff."

"I was trying to keep you from gettin' killed," he said in a harsh whisper. "I'm trying to make a living, same as you, Swan, and if it weren't me, Gold would find somebody else. Somebody worse, maybe. It's a law that doesn't make sense, that does more harm than good. People like that school teacher, Mary Margaret, want it so bad so something greater than themselves can stop their troubles, but her husband still ends up in the tank every Friday or Saturday night."

"I'm only doing what I have to." She turned from him, letting her hands fall to her sides. Emma watched the changes in the shafts of light as shadows crossed. It was a job, a paycheck. It was something to fall back on, and how many times in her life could she say she'd had even that. Emma wanted to sigh, but she held it in. She wasn't going to let him have that much. 

"So...raid the club. Do it on a weekday when it's not so packed. Write your report, but then, you should go. Let these people have some dignity."

Finally, she turned back to him. "I trusted you, you know? I actually started to trust you." Emma shook her head and scoffed. Before he could say anything, she turned on her heel and headed back to the secret passageway they'd come from. Being alone in the dark was just what she needed.


	15. Chapter 15

He didn't wait for an introduction. It had been some time since he paid a visit to Regina's office, especially in daylight. But he was her sheriff, he would be damned if he was told to wait. She looked up from her desk, and her initial look of confusion quickly faded as she narrowed her eyes. 

"So," she said as she stood up and circled the desk, "you've decided to rethink your early stance." She ran her fingers along the top of one of the chairs as she sauntered over to him. And Graham might have found it charming once. He'd been attracted to her power, willing to do things outside the scope of the law--especially when he considered the law in question unjust. But that had begun to fade, as he knew it would. He wasn't anything to her but a plaything, and he hadn't minded. But there were lives on the line now, lives besides his own. 

"Where's Mal?"

She pursed her lips. "How should I know?"

He gave her a knowing look but decided not to push. "Listen, Reggie...Regina, the prohi knows about the library. It was only a matter of time."

"Mr. Gold can take care of that." Her voice was flat, and she made to cross the room to where her telephone receiver was mounted. But Graham grabbed her wrist, spun her back to him. 

"No," he snapped. "We both know what Gold's solution would be, and there's no need for that."

She jerked her wrist away. "Are you working with her? Has she promised you some sort of deal, immunity for the rest of us?"

"No. No." He stepped back. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask. Graham was so focused on making sure Emma didn't get her head blown off, he hadn't thought about his own. "I want to get her out of town without tearing us all to pieces. Gold would bump her off in a heartbeat and has been looking for the excuse. But that would just bring more prohis down on us. The way I see it, you, me and Lindwurm have a vested interest in keeping her alive and giving her what she wants."

"I'm listening." Regina crossed her arms. 

"Give her Gold. We lose the imports for a few months tops. The speak gets shut down for a little while...maybe we move it temporarily. But we still have the stills, which bring in plenty enough."

Regina walked back to her desk and sat down silently. She leaned on her elbows as she rubbed her temples. "He'll get out of it some way."

"He won't." Graham slammed his palms down on her desktop and leaned in. "Not if we all stand against him. Testify if we have to...get our stories straight. We can come out of this if we give Swan a bigger fish to fry."

"I'm not implicating myself. I have more to think about than just the financial aspect of this."

"Then we'll say he was holding something over your head. Jesus, Regina, think about everything you stand to lose if she gets all of us or if Gold brings more of them down on our heads."

Regina stood and began to pace a slow circle behind the desk. He rarely saw her nervous, and that wasn't exactly what he would call this. But Graham knew when it came to her family, she could be merciless. And that's what he was counting on here. 

"I'll talk to Lindwurm. Just keep her away for a little longer. Do whatever you have to do short of the business end of a gun."

"Fine," he said. "But be quick.” 

As he left, Graham brushed past Regina's mother and hastily doffed an imaginary cap at her. "What was that about?" he heard her say as he turned the corner, headed to the station and hopefully to Emma.

*****

He sat alone, fidgeting, looking behind him every so often at the sound of imaginary footsteps. There was always paperwork to be done, and Graham told himself he was just getting that done, not waiting for Emma to return. She might have lost her way in the mines. She might have gone looking for the stills, even found them. But this was one place he knew she might come back to. The sun outside was getting low, and he hadn't seen her yet, though. He didn't know when it would be worth getting out of there, trying to head her off before she did something stupid.

What he didn't hear was the very real footsteps behind him. Ad that's because Cora knew how to walk every so quietly. A simple trick of the theater to tape the soles of one's shoes so as not to make too much noise backstage. She watched the back of his head for a moment, and thought about what a waste this was. But the safety of her family was at stake, and while Regina might have thought selling out Gold was a viable option, Cora knew how that was likely to end. 

When she shot him, the pop of the pistol sounded in her ears after he slumped over and out of his chair. Cora stepped over Graham's body, looking down at his dark, surprised eyes, and she shook her head. 

"Such a shame, Sheriff, that you had to involve yourself with that woman. Regina might have been willing to take the chance that you weren't a snitch, but I'm not."

*****

Emma searched, but there were too many branches, too many tunnels that ended in cave ins or a wall that didn't move with a deft touch. When she emerged from the mines in late afternoon, she gulped the fresh air and squinted in the yellow, hazy light. She drove back into town, planning her next moves. There was no way August hadn't know about this before that night she saw him unloading a shipment. She'd suspected him before, on their last job, but she'd never had anything to prove it. Even now, she didn't have much. Maybe he was waiting to gather more evidence. Maybe he'd been trying to reach her all day--she doubted it.

But what if he was right? What if Graham was right? How many jobs had Prohibition cost the nation, she wondered. How far reaching had the unintended consequences of their noble experiment become? "Noble," she scoffed at her steering wheel. 

But this was her job. She liked the feeling of security the gun on her hip and the badge gave her. She liked the weight of authority behind her own, even if that authority was bullheaded and wrong, or so most people thought. And without it, all she had was a shabby flop in Boston to go back to, and even that wouldn't last long without the rent coming in more or less on time. 

She pulled up in front of Granny's, and it wasn't until she got out that she noticed Neal walking towards her. Emma shouldered her jacket and hurried for the front door. She'd meant to go in the back, avoid anyone who might be in the diner, but that meant she'd have to cross him. 

He followed her inside, caught the door when she swung it shut. And he sided up to her just like they were old friends, old lovers, as he grinned at Granny behind the pie counter. "How's about two coffees for me and the lady, Granny?" He whispered in Emma's ear, "We gotta talk," before saying louder as he guided her to a booth, "My treat."

Emma jerked her arm away as she slid into the seat. "I don't want your coffee or your talk. Had enough of the latter."

"Just shut up for half a second and hear me out." As Granny put two, steaming mugs in front of them, he grinned and pulled out wrinkled bills. "Keep the change."

Emma plunked a spoonful of sugar into hers and stirred, just to have something to do with her hands. Too much rushed in on her in this place--the kid, Neal, August--what she wanted to do was get back in her car and drive straight out of town, down past Boston, just keep going until she hit Florida, maybe take a boat the Cuba where she could have a sip of rum without betraying her badge.

Neal leaned in over his cup, holding it loosely in both hands. "I'll cut to the chase. My pops, Mr. Gold, is running this operation. Sure, there are other players, but you know it all stops and starts with him--just the kinda guy he is. Now," he spoke even more quietly, "the way I see it, you can bust 'em all, do your bit and collect your next bit of rent until you’re off to the next two bit town to shoot up some juke joint, everything's jake."

"Jesus, Neal," she said, rolling her eyes as she got ready to leave, "your pops? Didn't he run out on you when you were a kid or somethin' like that? Why are you telling me this."

"Shh. Just hear a fella out. You could take my pops out of the game along with all the other players, sure, but we both know that leaves a vacuum here that someone has gotta fill. Now, the way I see it is you and me...we're natural fits." When she opened her mouth to respond, he held up a finger to stop her. "But that's two outsiders coming in, taking over a town operation. Now...how's about you just take my pop in for it? That leaves a few interested parties to deal with the local contingent with a nice little slot for the two of us. We keep this going long as we can...build a nice little nest egg. And then we take off for Tampa, maybe even find our kid along the way. We could go straight, be a real family."

"We were never going to be a family," Emma snapped. She stood, pulling away as he tried to grab her hands. "And you...you're never going to go straight, just like your pops. But thanks for the tip; I'm sure I would have found you both at the speakeasy anyway. I'll be sure to throw you a bone when I write up my report...that is, if you hang around to see the end of this."

She'd meant to go up to her room, lie down, maybe shower off her trip to the mines. But Emma couldn't stand the thought of sitting still for another minute. Instead, she found herself at Regina Mills' door, accepting a reluctant invitation in. 

Emma kept her voice steady, and her throat screamed with the effort. Her words felt heavy. Her heart felt like it was beating against resin that had slowly been fossilizing since her first breath. If she kept her eyes on the stain on the tablecloth--a telling, faded drop of wine--she could force them to remain dry. "You love him?" She raised her eyes, her breath caught in her throat. 

"Of course." Regina's voice was soft, but both words were sharp with disbelief, disdain. Of course she loved him. She had chosen him. "Of course I love Henry."

Emma let out the breath shakily only to gulp it back in. She balled the tablecloth in her fist and let it go, smoothing the wrinkled lace, running her fingertip over the stain. Regina's choice had been borne of the one Emma hadn't been given. Hadn't it?

She had scrubbed floors until her knuckles bled, and then she had been made to kneel on those same floors and pray on bruised knees. With her eyes closed and her hands folded, she resented the life growing inside of her. Because they wanted her to love it and hate herself. Because they wanted her to remember her choices were this or starve or whore herself around and hope she could scrape by. 

When they found her frozen with indecision and a knitting needle, they told her girls like her burned in hell for less. It seemed better than being discarded the way she had been. She was lucky, they said, that the orphanage even continued to care for a girl in her condition. But there were plenty of good people who deserved the blessing of a child.

He had grown heavy and moved inside her. She had loved him without ever seeing his face. And she had vowed that she would forget him as soon as she knew he was really all right. 

"And you, ah, you take him to church?"

Regina narrowed her eyes. "This line of questioning is wholly inappropriate, Agent Swan. You have no right."

"You're right." Emma stood, her fingers flat against the table, pressed so tightly that the lace would imprint there if only for a moment. "But he's my kid, and I need to know that he's good, that he's okay."

"He's perfect." Regina stood and stepped closer to her. "He is _my_ son, and I would hate for him to become confused by your sudden interest."

"I did right by him." Emma gritted her teeth to stop herself from saying more. 

"And that's where your responsibility, such as it was, ended."

Regina was right, but that did nothing to dissolve the sob that was forming as a lump in Emma's throat as she left the ornate house, the home that she could have never given the kid--Henry. The moon was coming out in the still sunlit sky, and it shone down on her like it knew her, and Emma felt raw. She tried to swallow the lump as she scrubbed viciously at her eyes with the heels of her hands. This wasn't what she was there for. That kid wasn't her job. 

She made her way to the sheriff's station, walking with enough purpose that a few evening pedestrians purposefully stepped out of her way. 

This whole town was rotten to its core. But was it? Was it really their fault that what had been a legitimate business overnight became something illicit. She didn't know why, but she hoped Graham would be waiting for her. Damned if she didn't find herself feeling like he was the only one she could trust. And he'd been part of it all from the beginning. 

As she walked into the station, she called, "You ready to do some real law enforcement…" But Emma's voice died in her throat when she saw Graham lying there, prone in his own congealing blood. She hurried over to him, knowing that it was beyond too late, but she felt for a pulse anyway. 

"Dammit. God damnit," she said, spitting the words. Did she do this to him? Killing a Fed could lead to all kinds of other trouble, but if they thought he was working with her, Emma could see this Mr. Gold taking care of it. But just leaving him here this way...Emma didn't know if it was sloppy or a message. She hastily wiped stinging tears from her eyes and stood up. 

"I'm sorry," Emma said, looking down into Graham's hazy eyes. She took his jacket from the back of his chair and covered his face. "Dammit. I'm so sorry."

*****

Mal was stocking bottles of her own work when Neal came in through the back of the bar. His face was flushed, but he wasn't late. Doors would open, but he wasn't the first bartender on call. But Mal could see a seriousness on his face. She opened one of the bottles and poured them both generous shots.

"You look like you could use an edge," she said, sipping her own drink. 

"Might want to think about shutting down tonight. Maybe a couple of nights." He gulped the moonshine down and coughed, wiping his watering eyes

Mal narrowed her eyes. "And why's that?"

"Because Emma Swan knows about this place, and she'd take a bullet over a bribe."

Mal poured him another drink, but her glass remained empty. She leaned back against the bar and watched while he sipped. Gold was in there--Mal could see it. But that wasn't all there was to Neal Cassidy. There was a kindness behind those shrewd eyes, and it was that she distrusted more. Gold was predictable. Greed and spite and lust all led down the same road. But that softness in Neal meant he might do something entirely unexpected. 

"What do you know about Agent Swan's...motivations?"

"Emma and me…" He shook his head, finished the drink and slammed the glass down. "That's ancient history. Doesn't matter here and now."

"Seems to me that ancient history with a prohi is what matters most here and now." Her gun was within reach, but she didn't make a move for it. There was no sense in making a friendly conversation turn unfriendly in a hurry. 

He straightened up, sizing Mal up without bothering to hide it. "Like I said, ancient history. Means I know her well enough to know what a bull she is, and yeah, maybe I still got a soft spot for her. But there's nothing soft about Emma Swan, and I've got a bigger one for cold hard cash. So, the way I see it is we can go about business as usual and let her take us all in in a raid, or we can make sure she gets Gold and leaves satisfied while we go on about our business."

"Don't you worry your pretty head about the details, Cassidy. If Agent Swan decides to raid this fine establishment, we'll make sure she gets her man."

Regina hurried. She ignored her mother's questions about why she needed someone to watch Henry so suddenly in the evening. She didn't change into a cocktail dress or any other evening attire. The truth was, Emma Swan's visit caught her off guard, and it didn't take her long to parse out the implications of it.

She looked over her shoulder before unlocking the main entrance to the library. The hinges creaked slightly. She was the only one with a key, and it had been some time since she used it. It was too dark inside, even with the light of the street lamps filtering in in places, but she easily made her way to the passage that lead to Ursula's backstage area. A flock of girls with tassels on their nipples and feather headdresses rushed by her to the stage entrance. For the most part, they ignored her. But she caught the awed whispers of others who were in various states of undress. Regina liked the recognition. She had not put in an appearance since Agent Swan came to town, but she liked the reaction her absence was creating. 

Ursula quickly spotted her, as if she could sense a disruption in her domain. "Fancy seeing you here, Madam Mayor."

"I'm looking for Mal." she saw no point in engaging in banter. 

"Of course you are." Ursula nodded toward the front of the house. "She's at the bar."

Regina pursed her lips, sensing that sending for Mal would be futile. She had hoped to avoid a larger audience. She slipped out of the stage door, and as it turned out, Mal was behind the bar rather than in front of it. She wore her shirt sleeves rolled up, and she'd taken off her collar, unbuttoning her shirt at the first few buttons. One suspender slipped towards her right shoulder as she held a bottle high to pour its contents into a frosty glass. She served the customer and wiped the bar down before tossing the rag over her shoulder. And Regina watched for a moment more, appreciating this different view while a little thrill went through her core. 

Finally, she slid onto one of the stools. Mal leaned toward her and clasped her hands together. The other bartender--a man Regina didn't know with the scruff of a moustache and goatee-- continued working. 

"Slumming it, Reggie?"

"We need to talk."

Mal shook her head and indicated the busy bar with her hands. "Later."

Regina covered one of Mal's hands in her own and leaned closer. "Now. It's important."

"Be careful, Reggie. You don't want to tarnish your image." But Mal pulled the rag off of her shoulder and tossed it to the other bartender. "Cover me. I gotta see a man about a horse."

Neal eyed her and then Regina. "More like a trip to the bank, if you ask me."

Mal rounded the bar, and Regina slid off the stool. But it was then that she noticed the hush that came over the crowd. The music became unbearably loud without the din of voices covering it, and the piano gave itself away as being slightly out of tune. Regina and Mal both turned to see Agent Swan standing where the stairway entrance spilled out. Mal put her arm around Regina’s waist, pulled her closer. The music stopped abruptly. Regina felt Mal reach for her gun. 

"Where's Gold?" Emma asked. Her eyes were red. At the end of the bar, August stood. His hand went for his gun and he produced a badge. 

After a moment, Gold rose from one of the seats, Lacey sliding off his lap. "How may I be of service, Agent Swan? If you are looking for the proprietors...rather proprietresses of this fine establishment, I would be happy to…"

"Save it. You kill the sheriff?"

Regina looked sharply to Mal, but Mal shook her head. Neither of them had ordered it, but it could easily have been Gold if he got wind of Swan having found out their system.

"I am merely a businessman enjoying a pleasurable evening in these...trying times." Gold gave a sad smile. "Our sheriff's involvement with nefarious parties was long rumored. I would not put murder past the parties he consorted with, but I can assure you that I was not involved."

She looked around the room. "Anyone else feel like a confession?" There was a murmur through the crowd, but ultimately silence prevailed. 

Emma walked toward the bar and slid onto a stool. Regina could feel her heart beating in her throat, and she squeezed Mal's wrist, stopping her from pulling her own gun as Emma put her gun and badge on the bar. 

"Whiskey, neat." 

Neal raised one of his eyebrows. "You gonna lock me up if I serve you."

"No." Emma shook her head and pushed her gun and badge toward him. "I'm done with that. And the way I see it, this town's going to need a sheriff to find a murderer."

The silence continued, and it seemed to Regina that she could hear the sound of liquid hitting glass too easily as Neal poured. From the end of the bar, August raised his eyebrows. He watched Emma take a long drink, emptying her glass before pushing it back from more. He tucked his gun and his badge away, and as if on cue, the music started again. She looked up as Mal pulled away from her. 

"Business as usual." Mal cut her eyes back to Gold, still standing in the crowd of tables. "For now." She straightened her suspenders and turned to face Regina full on. "Let's blow."

Regina thought she'd never ask. A short walk later, and they were tumbling into bed, clothes half on. Regina had ignored her mother's reproachful looks. Who kill Graham was a problem for the next day. All she could think of were Mal's lips, hot on her own, tasting like moonshine. Emma Swan's disillusionment and new crusade was a problem for the next day. All she wanted was Mal's hands on her breasts, between her legs. 

But Mal pulled away, leaned on her elbow and traced her fingers down Regina's chest. "Calm down, Reggie. We'll take it slow."

Regina moaned in protest, but Mal's mouth was on one of her nipples, lazily tracing it with her tongue. She arched into the touch, pressing herself into Mal's mouth, pressing her legs together for some kind of relief. Mal was relentless though, slowly making her way to Regina's other breast, tracing the path with her tongue and lazily flicking her nipple. 

She took the time to pull off Regina's stockings, her garters, to toss her dress into a corner. She ran her hands over Regina's hips, her belly, the stiff curls of her pubis. And Regina's heart stopped beating from adrenaline, fear, self-preservation. It was now quick with desire. She gasped when Mal thrust a finger inside of her, curling it before pulling out and thrusting again, adding another, pressing into Regina's clit with her hand. But she moved slowly, so slowly. And Regina kissed her hungrily, knowing the release would build before washing over her entirely to the point where all worries would be gone for a time.


End file.
